#like the pain of knowing such a thing for so long but not being to tell anyone

[buckiverse]

☆ warnings: mdni, this is literally just a description of how caleb, zayne, and sylus jerk off and if they watch porn

☆ a/n: I have officially decided all the boys are virgins, so i feel it's only right to write about them yearning for you but also being overcome with guilt <3

☆ Caleb

Caleb has spent so long secretly admiring you, adoring you. All he wants is for you to like him the same—but Caleb is patient. Caleb understands long-suffering and is willing to wait for you. He won’t force you to come to him. You have to want it—this, as he does. With this being said, for a long time, he will not watch porn. He’ll feel bad like he’s betraying you—like you’ll know he lusted after another person. 

When you both go to college, he’d spend more time away from you for the first time, and he wouldn’t even dare to think about letting another woman touch him. He’d even have you act as a liaison, discouraging others from approaching him romantically. That didn’t mean that he hadn’t heard stories of what his friends were doing in bed, the fantasies they were living out—now he was curious. 

He’s not a boy anymore, and this is different—it’s educational, he’d tell himself. When the video loaded, a woman, blindfolded, a vibrator pressed between her folds. Teasing her clit gently. The blush spread on his face furiously as he felt himself getting hard. He watched as she writhed against the toy, but not daring to close her legs as her partner commanded. He could feel the heat spreading across his neck—taking mental notes. He would love to do this to you.

Though he had no experience, that didn’t mean he wouldn’t make love to you so good you’d never want to leave. He’d read books and look at fanart, especially of things you like. If you tell him about the latest manhwa you’re reading, best believe he's going to study that shit like no other. You read romance? Well, now he does, too. 

He might even have a whole notepad. Seeing what works, what he likes, what he thinks you might like. He knows you well enough to guess, though he’d definitely ask you directly. 

But when Caleb touches himself, he’d do it with a stolen pair of panties. Sometimes, the washer would eat your socks, underwear, and towels, which was nothing new.

Now, speaking of guilt, he knows this is horrible for him, but he doesn’t know what else to do with himself. But when Caleb saw the pair, unwashed and forgotten in the washer, he couldn’t help but pick them up and stuff them in his pocket. Now he closes his eyes, stroking himself slowly, the underwear in his mouth to muffle the noises from his lips, hoping you wouldn’t hear him. He decided this would do. Using little pieces of you to get himself off. 

He would think of the times before college when he could hear your muffled moans and breaths coming from your room late at night and secretly press his head against your shared wall, trying to listen to you better. He couldn’t wait to use his newfound knowledge on you. He’s just eagerly waiting. 

☆ Zayne

Zayne wants to be romantically involved with you. He desires—yearns for it. But he knows that's not the current state of your relationship and will respect the pace at which you want to take things. His busy life keeps him occupied. He almost relies on it to monopolize his attention since he can’t give it all to you. But it doesn’t stop the guilt he feels—watching porn. 

It takes a lot for him actually to touch himself. He won’t do it often. Yet. It would be an actual internal conflict for him. When he finally decided he was going to watch porn, he would make it quick. The cold metal of his phone in his hand, the dark screen reflecting at him, would almost snap Zayne out of it—but he’s currently wrapped up in his lust. Even so, he still feels like he’s being unfaithful to you—the idea of you more accurately. 

He’ll decide only to watch one while allowing the video to load. He’s just desperate to get off at the moment. It’s almost painful, the way his cock is straining against his slacks. Lately, waiting or sleeping it off hasn’t been working. He’d been so pent up that Zayne stayed hard the whole drive home, and now he gave in. 

It's a short video, but fuck it was hot. The woman squirmed underneath her partner. And Zayne’s pupils blew wide when he saw him suck on her clit, and he could hear the *pop* of his lips detaching from her folds. The groan that fell from her lips when he pushed his tongue inside her—how his arms kept her legs pinned down, though her hips bucked upwards. 

He wanted to do that to you badly. So bad that he closed his eyes, his head thrown back, his lips parted as he leaned back in the chair, jerking himself fast. He had to have you—he couldn’t take it anymore. And he came so fucking hard, and when he finally opened his eyes, he saw the come all over his slacks.

But the guilt was quickly spreading through his chest. It almost feels like he has desires towards the people in the video, but honestly, all he wants is you. He’s never even touched another woman—but still, he felt mortified at the idea that you’d look at him and know what he was doing late at night, imagining it was you there.  

He would never touch another woman. You are all he has wanted since he was a child. Even back then, he only wanted to be connected to you, keeping other girls at a distance even into his adulthood. But maybe now that was catching up to him.

☆ Sylus

Sylus is patient—but only with you. He’d been frustrated for a while. Between your apparent hatred of him and the chaos in the N109 zone, it was slowly eating away at him. Still, no matter how adamant you were about holding your grudge, he’d never be angry with you. Disappointed? Maybe. But never angry.

He loved the game you were playing but wanted—needed—more of you. You were bonded to him, whether you realized it or not. Fated. And the longer you pretended to hate him, the more amused he became. Sylus knew your walls were crumbling, piece by piece.

Like the patient man he is, he waited. Even as you kept those walls standing, even as you unknowingly softened him in ways he never expected—he never sought out distractions. He wouldn’t watch porn. He didn’t need to. First of all, he was busy. Running a city, being a crime boss. You know, important stuff.

But that didn’t mean he didn’t come home late at night, exhausted, missing you. That he didn’t lie in bed on his stomach, the ache of longing settling deep. He might even pull a pillow beneath him, letting it fill the empty space—imagining it was you.

He’d press his weight into it, wishing it were your body beneath him instead. His breath would hitch, a flush burning its way across his cheeks as he rutted against it, slow at first, then more desperate. His fingers would twist into the sheets, knuckles white, your name slipping past his lips like a prayer.

He just felt so desperate. The need for you—your touch, your claim—clawed at his chest, leaving him raw. And when he finally came, hips stuttering in one last, shaky grind, a tear would slip from the corner of his eye.

Sylus doesn’t cry often—if at all. But the thought of you never choosing him? That breaks him.

[jess-le-mess]

i recently had one of the best evenings in a long time because i accidentally ended up "being myself."

i was out picking up a package, but the place where i was picking it up was closed and i'd already gotten in the car and driven there so i was like "damn, sucks to have come all this way for nothing."

and i remembered that nearby was other thing going on with folks i know that i'd kind of thought i wasn't going to go to but then i was like, "might as well now."

now, i hadn't intended to see anyone so i was already wearing my cozy evening stuff: giant blanket hoodie, neon thermal tights. not super dressed for socializing.

but then i was like "meh, it'll be fine."

and it was fine! i met up with my friends, made some new ones.

and sitting there in my big ass blanket hoodie with folks just chatting and playing games (also double-fisting these mini pain au chocolat they had there) i was like "wow damn, i'm really me right now and everyone's just being super nice like that's okay" and it felt really awesome.

It’s crazy and fucked up that being yourself is actually the solution.

[sukeruton-san]

Random idea Sorta Maybe Blind

Clockwork has been teaching Danny how to do pretty much everything blind. why is unknown

Untill now

After a way too close call with his parents/GIW he almost got fully dissected! He decided to initiate plan 42 Stich wounds,Grab shit,and hall ass to Gotham. Gotham has enough ectoplasm for him to stay long term not nearly as much as Amity Park but it has enough

After one pain filled flight he arrives in a dungey bathroom in Gotham. He looks in the mirror and sees

Oh

What the fuck!?!?

Apparently even though Gotham has a decent amount of ectoplasm He didn't know he needed way more to look alive. He looks ill!?! his skin became three shades paler making his bruises and eyebags stand out more. his hair being way more wild than usual and fluffy-er? He somehow looks smaller and skinner than before, and his eyes

Oh ancients his eyes

There still blue but they're diluted they have that heavy milk quality to them and his pupils are permanently dilated. He can see but he looks like he can't

That's why Clockwork taught him how to do things blind so he can pretend to be blind! cuz there's no way people are going to believe that he can see!?!

He grabbed his bag packed and gifted from Sam, Tucker, and Jazz left the bathroom, clossed his eyes, and started to figure out what he should do.

Bruce's adoption sense seems to be tingling He wonders what that's about.

[hottiesforhockey]

deal with the devil ⎜j.hughes

pairings: jack hughes x afab!reader genre: teammates sister⎜ friends with benefits ⎜secret relationship ⎜ warnings: vaginismus rep ⎜ fingering ⎜ fighting amongst friends :( ⎜ protective older brother curtis ⎜painful sex ⎜p in v ⎜public sex (...kinda) ⎜spitting ⎜curtis says some mean things about jack ⎜why do my jack fics always have him getting in a fight ⎜jack really is the kind to talk you through it ⎜ jack being oh so careful and gentle ⎜ synopsis: some things are private not secret - but your relationship with jack…oh that's definitely a secret. word count: 10k authors note: four nations jack has me feeling some type of way...this fic has some vaginismus rep in the smut scene with some mentions of painful sex so I hope everyone enjoys and let me know what you think!

(unedited)

You never pictured yourself as someone with a fuck buddy. 

You never pictured yourself having quickies in a supply closet. 

To be honest you never really pictured yourself doing anything other than sitting in a library studying … but here you are. 

 “You need to get up.” You hiss, smacking you pillow against the bare back in the bed next to you. You sigh, hitting the back one more time, before slumping against the mattress. “You’re insufferable.” 

“And yet you call me every weekend anyway.” The voice chuckles back, finally rolling onto his side facing you with a teasing grin on his face, his body lifting slightly as he reaches over you, turning off the alarm ringing on his phone. 

“Just admit that you like me.” He teases, his smile only growing as you shoot him a sharp glare. 

“I don’t like you, I just happen to get some satisfaction from your dick.” You mumble, finally smiling as his own expression drops. You’re not prepared to protect yourself and he launches forwards his arms wrapping around your waist pulling you down to a lying position as he wrestles to kneel above you, his hands gripping your arms as he pushes you into the bed. 

“Do you want to say that again, pretty girl?” He questions, his eyebrow quirked as you try to squirm in his hold. His grasp doesn’t falter for even a moment as you thrash beneath him, letting out soft chuckles every time you struggle a little too hard. 

“Fine, you win.” You whine, your body relaxing into the mattress as you stop your movements gazing up at the half naked man above you. “You look very handsome like this.” You comment, your eyes wandering over the man above you. His hair tousled, sharp eyes, his lips pulled back in a grin. His cheeks flush with heat and he watches you, watching him. 

You take the faltering in his grip to rip your arms from his hands, your thighs gripping onto his torso as you roll the two of you over, your hands taking the position his were in pushing his forearms into the mattress. His eyes trained on yours as you make yourself comfortable on his pelvis. 

“You win.” He mimics. You flash him a quick grin before leaning down to capture his lips with yours. It takes no more than five seconds for him to break free from your grip, his arms lifting off the mattress, his hands cupping either side of your jaw as he pulls you closer to him, one hand leaving your face to pull your hips down onto his. 

“Jack…” You mumble against his lips as you feel him smile against your lips, his own slowly trailing down your jaw as you drop your head to the side with a long sigh - Jacks hands making teasing motions against the edge of your panties, as the loud knock on your door startles you both. 

“Jack, dude we have to leave for practice in like fifteen minutes.” The voice of his roommate carries through the door, another sharp knock on the white wood pulling you away from the man below you. 

“You didn’t tell me he was here.” You hiss as quietly as possible, you’re quick to slide off the bed, reaching to the floor pulling your leggings on as quickly as possible before reaching over to Jack’s desk pulling on his hoodie. 

“I didn’t know he was.” Jack hisses back, making quick work of pulling on his own t-shirt just as the doorknob turns the two of you barely managing to get dressed as Jack’s brother steps into the room. 

“Dude, we have to leave — oh, sorry I didn’t know you were here.” Luke pushes open the door his gaze shooting to yours in surprise, you let your head fall in shame, the room falls silent as Luke looks between half naked Jack on the bed and then back to you - Luke had been the first one on the team to meet you through your older brother, when the youngest Hughes found himself abandoned to stay in jersey for all star weekend on his own - Curtis inviting him over for dinner so the young player would eat at least one home cooked meal that week. Luke had eventually introduced you to the rest of the team at events, insisting on you coming anytime your brother brought up inviting you, hence the awkward position you and Jack find yourself in now - Luke just sighs, shooting Jack a stern glare, “Look, I don’t even want to know.” Luke sighs, looking at both of you against with a shake of his head, “Curtis is gonna kill you, you know.” He remarks as he slips back out of the room, closing the door softly behind himself. 

This is not how things were meant to go. 

The silence that follows Luke’s departure is thick enough to suffocate. Jack runs a hand through his already messy hair, exhaling sharply as he swings off the side of his bed. “Well,” He says finally, dragging the word out as he reaches for his phone on the nightstand, tucking it away into his pocket. “That went well.” Jack lets out an ‘oof’ as you shove at his shoulder, rolling your eyes as you gather your stuff into your tote bag. 

“I can’t believe we got caught like that.” Your voice is a harsh whispers, your hands gripping your bag in frustration as you frown - you should’ve never let your guard down - of course Luke would be here, this is his house too. Jack just grins, unfazed as ever as he walks towards you, his hands landing on your hips as he presses a soft kiss to your cheek. 

“I mean I’m surprised we didn’t get caught earlier if he was here the whole time,” Jack starts, and you shove him off you as you realise where his words are about to go. 

“Don’t say it.” 

“You were pretty loud last night, if I do say so myself.” 

“You said it.” You huff as his teasing words, unable to ignore the burning rising up your neck, you shoot him a glance over your shoulder, shoving the rest of your stuff into your bag before turning to face him - Jack still looking like he wants to do nothing more then drag you back into his bed - an easy smile on his face.  You scoff at his bright smile, shoving him again before spinning toward the door, your heart still pounding from the close call. “I need to leave before my brother finds out and buries your body under the ice at the rink.” Jack chuckles, but there’s a flicker of something else in his expression—something that makes you pause for half a second. 

Before you can place it, he speaks again, his voice softer than before. “You know, I wouldn’t mind if he knew— maybe we should tell him before things get out of hand.”

Your stomach tightens.

You shake your head, refusing to acknowledge the weight behind those words. That’s not what this is. This isn’t supposed to be complicated. It’s a mutually beneficial arrangement, nothing more.

“Tell him what,” you finally say, forcing a casual tone as you reach for the doorknob. “‘Hey curtis I’ve been fucking your sister for months and thought I should just let you know because I want to keep doing it just not in secret’.” You drop your voice in a bad impression of Jack, letting out a long sigh as you dismiss the idea, “It’s not going to happen, Jack.” Jack’s eyes darken slightly, but you don’t give him the chance to respond. You slip out of the room as quietly as possible, your pulse racing as you make your way down the hallway.

You send a quick nod to Luke who is perched by the kitchen counter sipping from his water bottle - “You’re continued silence is much appreciated.” You coo towards him as you slide into your shoes, the youngest Hughes brother shrugging. 

“He’d kill me too if he knew I knew - consider it for my own protection.” Luke hums, giving you a small wave as you slip out of the apartment. You let out an exhausted sigh as you get into the empty hallway - you shouldn’t be feeling like this—like you just barely escaped something dangerous. It’s just Jack. Just an ongoing mistake you keep making because, well…

You can’t seem to stop yourself. Something about Jack pulls you back each and every time you think of finishing things. 

Your phone vibrates in your pocket, and you pull it out, already knowing who it’ll be.

The Devil 😈: Next time, you should stay till I get back. We could ‘discuss’ things more

You roll your eyes, but your fingers hesitate over the keyboard.

Stay till I get back. 

Like it’s normal. 

Like everything about this is normal. 

You shove your phone back into your pocket without replying, picking up your pace as you head toward your car.

This has to end.

But deep down, you already know the truth: It won’t.

You don’t text him back.

Not that day. 

Not the next. 

Not for an entire week.

You tell yourself it’s for the best. That if you give yourself enough space, enough time, the pull toward him will lessen. That the way he makes you feel—like you’re skidding too close to the edge of something dangerous—will eventually fade.

But then Friday night rolls around, and you’re sitting on your bed, staring at your phone like an idiot, pretending you don’t know exactly what you’re waiting for.

“Are you coming over after the game tonight, pretty girl?”  You mimic, your same bad impression coming to the surface as you glare at your blank home screen. 

“Hey, are you coming to the game tonight? Renee can’t make it any more and I have that ticket.” Your brother knocks on the door the your room - well the spare room - poking his head in as he takes in your body sprawled across the bed, your gaze shooting up at him in surprise, as you body jumps a little, your hands automatically tucking your phone under your pillow as he lets out a soft chuckle. 

“I assume she didn’t get a chance to ask you.” He jokes, he already has his game day suit on - making you look so much worse in your pizza stained pyjamas. 

“I haven’t seen her all day.” You respond, confirming his suspicions that his wife never got the chance to ask if you want to go. “But I’m down if you can wait fifteen minutes to give me a ride?’ You say hopefully, a smile lighting up your face to mimic your brothers, his head nodding quickly as he shoots you an unsure glance. 

“I’ll give you twenty - you look like a mess.” He says with a grimace. 

“Ha Ha, very funny Curtis.” You sneer, sliding off the bed and shutting the door in his face as you glance around the room at any available clothing that might be lying around, “I knew I should’ve done laundry.” You manage to find some relatively clean jeans, and a cozy red hoodie, tugging them both on as you comb your fingers through your hair before securing it to the back of your head with a claw clip just as Curtis calls for you by the front door. 

“Are you coming or should I just assume you’ve died in your own filth?” He calls, your eyes rolling as you yank your purse of the back of the door, bolting down the stairs to meet your brother by the car. 

“My filth has not overcome me, as you can see.” You hiss as you slide into the passenger seat, your brother sending you an amused glance before pulling out of the driveway - the ride to the arena being relatively silent aside from the kids bop covers Curtis refused to turn off - you’ve never been more glad to get out a car then you were as he pulled into his spot at the prudential centre. 

“You know Luke was asking about you earlier today…” Curtis starts as you both slide out of the car, your brows furrowing as you look towards him, “Yeah, he was asking if you were coming today - said there was something he wanted to talk to you about.” Curtis continues, a knowing grin spreading on his face. 

“I don’t know why.” You say quickly, hiking your bag further up your shoulder as you glance over at him, the two of you making your way into the building. 

“Neither, but he’s a good kid.” Curtis starts, “Wouldn’t be mad if there was something going on between you two.” He adds, your brows raising in surprise jack’s words slicing through your head. 

I wouldn’t mind if he knew. 

“At least he’s nothing like his brother Jack, god he’s a piece of work.” Curtis cuts through your thoughts, “Don’t get me wrong, I love the kid but don’t even bother with someone like him — all he’ll do is break your heart.” He says quickly, your thoughts deflating quickly as you just nod along. 

After your joyous heart to heart with your brother, you find yourself standing outside the locker room, shifting on your feet as you wait. The hallway is buzzing with players walking in and out, staff moving quickly through the space, and the occasional fan sneaking glances inside. You’re distracted, lost in thought, when a passing player jostles you, your feet losing their place as you stumble, trying to catch yourself before ultimately giving up and just bracing for impact. 

“Woah, gotcha.” a pair of large hands grip your waist, steadying you. You blink up at Luke holding you upright, his hands firm against your sides. His expression is amused as you steady yourself, your fingers lightly gripping his forearm for balance. 

“Timo you gotta be more careful, we’ve got precious cargo over here.” Luke shouts down the hallway - a murmured ’sorry’ shot your way as the large Swiss player continues on his way. 

“Thanks, I really thought I was gonna eat shit for a second there.” You joke, Luke’s hands still firm on your waist until he’s sure you’ve caught your balance again and quickly releases you. 

“No problem - I swear you’re clumsier than me.” 

“Only when hockey players shove past me like I’m invisible.” you reply dryly, Luke chuckles as he helps you dust of the invisible dirt all over your clothes, “So, my brother said you were asking about me today?” You start, crossing your arms over your chest as you raise a brow towards the youngest Hughes brother. 

“Oh, yeah.” Luke starts slowly, rubbing the back of his neck with a sigh, “It’s just were trying to plan this congratulations party for Jack for making team USA and I was hoping you’d be able to make an appearance?” Luke explains, your eyes widening in surprise as your gaze shoots over where you are to look for signs of your brother - you grab hold of Lukes arm dragging him closer to the wall as you whisper. 

“I can’t go if Curtis is going to be there - it’s going to be too suspicious.” Luke lowers his head as the two of you continue your oh so secret conversation, not noticing the ever darkening presence coming up the hallway - their focus trained entirely on you and his younger brother huddled in the corner. 

“Curtis isn’t going - that’s the best part.” Luke starts, “He said he’s never support his teammates betrayal of Canda and to count him out.” He expands, your head nodding - it does sound exactly like something your brother would say - “Besides do you think I’m dumb enough to invite you and your brother, I may not be the sharpest tool in the shed but I know how to keep a secret.” You nod again, your grip releasing on Luke’s sleeve as you glance around the hallway, your eyes locking with Jack’s glaring blue ones as you step away from his brother. 

“Send me the details.” You say quickly, as you motion for Luke to glance over his shoulder, the boy jumping as his older brother slides up besides him. Jack’s grip on his duffel bag flexes before he steps forward, his movements deliberate. 

“You ready for the game?” Jack asks Luke, his voice even, but there’s a rough edge to it that wasn’t there before.

“Yeah, man, almost,” Luke replies casually, but even he seems to pick up on the change in Jack’s demeanour. Jack doesn’t acknowledge you at first, his gaze lingering on Luke for a second too long. Then, finally, his eyes flick to you, filled with something unreadable. “Just catching up with the littlest Lazar before the game.” He jokes, slinging his arm over your shoulder, definitely not catching the tension simmering off his older brother. 

Jack glances between the two of you again before marching off towards the locker rooms, Luke letting out a deep exhale as you push his arm off your shoulder. “Do you think he heard?” 

“Luke, I don’t think that’s your biggest problem.” 

+

+

The energy in the arena is electric. The crowd roars as the players hit the ice, the sharp scrape of skates against the surface sending a thrill through your spine. The Devils are locked in an intense battle against their rivals, the game fast and aggressive. You try not to focus too hard on Jack, but it’s impossible. Every time he’s on the ice, your eyes are drawn to him like a magnet.

He plays with the same recklessness he carries everywhere else in his life—fearless, fast, and a maybe little too confident. And for a while, it’s working. He’s everywhere, setting up plays, taking shots, chirping at the other team like he was born for it.

But then it happens.

It’s late in the second period when Jack takes a bad hit. You see it the second it unfolds—his body angled just slightly off balance when he gets checked hard into the boards, his body crumpling to the ice as he holds onto his side, his head pressing against the floor as he pulls himself on his knees. 

Your stomach lurches.

Jack stays down longer than he should, and the entire arena holds its breath. He shifts, attempting to push himself up, but it’s clear something’s off. Trainers rush onto the ice, helping him upright as he tries to shake them off, but you can tell from your seat—he’s rattled.

“Shit,” Nico mutters beside you - the captain still on the injury reserve after his own set back on the ice a few weeks ago - his jaw tight as he watches his teammate get escorted off the ice. You feel his eyes flick toward you, and you force yourself to stay still, to not react too obviously.

It doesn’t matter though, your pulse is hammering and all you can think about is whether Jack is okay. Everyone watches as Jack disappears down the tunnel, and you’re on your feet before you can think twice about it. “I’m gonna go grab some water,” you tell Nico hastily, ignoring the way his eyes narrow slightly at you.

You don’t give him a chance to question it before you slip into the crowd, heading straight for the hallway leading to the locker rooms. Security is tight, but you know enough people, recognise enough faces, that nobody stops you as you weave through the chaos. When you push past the door leading into the medical area, Jack is sitting on the exam table, his head down as a trainer checks him over. His jersey is half off, revealing the sheen of sweat on his skin, deep bruising already forming along his ribs. His hair is damp with sweat, and there’s a frustrated set to his jaw that tells you he’s pissed—at the hit, at himself, at the entire situation.

He doesn’t notice you at first, too focused on whatever the trainer is saying. But when the door clicks shut behind you, his head snaps up, eyes locking onto yours. Something flickers across his face—surprise, then something softer, something unreadable.

“You checking in on me, pretty girl?” Jack’s voice is slightly hoarse, his usual cockiness tempered by the clear ache he’s feeling. You roll your eyes, stepping further into the room, ignoring the way your heart clenches at the sight of him like this. 

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you mutter, arms crossing over your chest. “Just making sure you’re not dead. Luke would be devastated.” Jack huffs out a laugh, wincing slightly as the trainer adjusts the ice pack. 

“Yeah, Luke would be torn up.” He tilts his head slightly, looking at you from under damp lashes. “But what about you?”

You scoff, shifting on your feet, suddenly feeling exposed under his gaze. “I’d be mildly inconvenienced.”

Jack grins, and despite the swelling starting on his cheek, he still somehow looks impossibly good. “That’s all?”

“That’s all.”

The trainer clears his throat, looking between the two of you before stepping back. “You need to sit out the rest of the game,” he tells Jack firmly. “I’ll let Coach know.” Jack groans but doesn’t argue, his gaze never leaving you. The trainer slips out, leaving you alone with him. The silence that settles is thick, charged with something you don’t want to acknowledge.

“You didn’t text me back.” Jack’s voice is quieter now, more serious.

“I panicked.” You shift your weight, your pulse quickening. “And I didn’t think there was anything to say.”

Jack studies you for a moment before shaking his head with a small, humourless chuckle. “Bullshit.”

Your stomach tightens. “Jack—”

“No,” he cuts you off, pushing himself up slightly, wincing but ignoring it. “You keep acting like this is just some stupid game, like none of this means anything, but we both know that’s not true.”

Your breath catches, your fingers curling into fists at your sides. “You’re making this more complicated than it needs to be.”

Jack lets out a sharp exhale, his frustration evident. “Or maybe you’re making things easier then they actually are.”

“This has to end eventually, right?” you whisper, more to yourself than him.

Jack’s gaze darkens, his fingers flexing against his knee. “Do you want it to?” You don’t answer immediately, because the truth is, you don’t know. “Is this because of Luke?” His question surprises you, your head tilting in confusion as he shakes his head slowly, “Never mind.” He shifts slightly, wincing as he moves, but his eyes stay locked onto yours. “You can keep pretending you can’t feel what’s right in front of your face, you can keep telling yourself it’s just a mistake,” he says, voice low, steady. “But we both know you’ll be back.”

Your stomach twists because he’s right.

He always is.

+

+

The party is already in full swing by the time you arrive - a chorus of cheers as you step through the door, each of the boys giving you a slight nod as you walk by them and into the Hughes brothers kitchen, the bottle of water in the cooler calling your name. 

“Oh, hey you made it.” Lukes voice carries through the kitchen, the lankiest Hughes shoving his way over to you, moving his teammates out of the way as he grabs his own drink from the cooler, leaning a hip against the counter as he smiles down at you. “I wasn’t sure you’d still come, Jack said it’s been a week or two since you two—” Luke hesitates, pursing his lip as he thinks for the right word, “talked.” He finishes, smiling as he takes a sip from his drink as you let out a low groan. 

“It felt wrong not to at least show my face.” You agree, rolling your eyes at looks teasing glance, his eyes locking on something over your shoulder, his face dropping quickly as he clears his throat. 

“Oh Curtis, what’re you doing here? I thought Canadians had no place in a team USA party.” Luke’s voice sends a shot of panic down your spine, a fake smile plastered on your face as you turn to face your older brother, who in return looks at you in confusion. 

“I wasn’t going to come to a filthy USA party but what kind of teammate would that make me?” Curtis teases, his arm slinging on your shoulder as he turns his attention down to you, questions in his gaze, “and it looks like I’m not the only Canadian here.” You let out a soft chuckle as you shuck your brothers arm off your shoulder, sending a pleading glance towards Luke. 

You hadn’t expected him to be here, and judging by the way Luke suddenly finds his drink fascinating, neither had he.

“Yeah, well,” you say, shrugging off his arm as casually as possible, “someone’s gotta get the inside scoop.” Curtis chuckles, but his gaze lingers on you a second too long, like he’s trying to piece something together. You don’t give him the chance, instead you decide that water’s just not going to cut it and reach to grab another drink from the cooler and twist the cap off, taking a slow sip as you scan the room.

You shouldn’t have.

Jack’s already looking at you.

He’s leaning against the far wall, a beer dangling from his fingertips, his darkened gaze locked on you with an intensity that makes your skin heat. He doesn’t move, doesn’t break eye contact, and for a moment, everything else—the music, the bodies pressed together in the living room, the weight of your brother standing too close—fades away.

You swallow hard, willing your pulse to settle, but the way Jack’s lips twitch, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you, only makes it worse.

“Hey, you good?” Curtis’ voice pulls you back, his brows drawn together in concern. “You disappeared for a second there.” 

You clear your throat, forcing yourself to look away. “Yeah, just tired from all my spying.” He doesn’t look convinced, but before he can push, a few of his teammates call his name, giving you the perfect excuse to step back. “I’m gonna grab some air,” you say, already moving. The night air is cool against your skin as you step outside onto the back deck, inhaling deeply as you press your palms against the railing. The music inside is muffled, just a low thrum beneath the distant hum of traffic and the occasional burst of laughter from the party still raging inside. But out here, it’s quieter—easier to breathe.

At least, it should be.

You can still feel the weight of Jack’s gaze from across the room, the way he looked at you like he already knew you’d end up here. Like he knew you’d run.

You close your eyes for a moment, tilting your head back as you exhale slowly, trying to shake the tension coiling in your chest. You shouldn’t have come tonight. You knew that coming would make things so much harder to avoid, to pretend like nothing was going on and yet here you were, standing outside during the congratulations for your achievement party of your fuck buddy.The door creaks open behind you, your thought spiral pausing as you take a long sip for your drink and even before he speaks, you know who it is.

“What are you doing here?” Jack’s voice is rough, edged with something you can’t quite place.

“It was too noisy in there.” You comment, not missing the way Jack lets out a soft chuckle. 

“You know that’s not what I meant.” 

You straighten but don’t turn around, keeping your hands braced against the railing. “I was invited.”

“That’s still not what I meant, I know you were invited. ” His footsteps are slow, deliberate, and then he’s next to you, close enough that the heat of his body seeps into yours despite the cool air. “So why did you come?”

You huff out a breath, finally turning to face him. “Does it matter?” Jack lets out a quiet, humourless laugh, shaking his head as he drags a hand through his already-messy hair. He looks frustrated, but more than that—he looks desperate.

“It matters,” he says, voice quieter now, like he’s afraid of what you might say. “It fucking matters to me.”

Your stomach twists, fingers tightening against the railing as you force yourself to hold his gaze. “Jack, don’t do this.”

His jaw flexes, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “Do what?”

“I didn’t come here to fight with you.” You can’t help the sigh that falls from your lips, “don’t make this into something it’s not meant to be.” 

Jack exhales sharply, shaking his head. “Bullshit.”

You stiffen. “Excuse me?”

“Bullshit,” he repeats, stepping closer. “You’re acting like you didn’t come here for the same reason I asked Luke to invite you—you think you can just pretend like there is nothing between us and I can tell that it’s killing you inside” He scoffs, his eyes flashing in the dim light. “You really think we can just go back to pretending like we were nothing after this?”

You swallow hard, your pulse pounding against your ribs. “I never thought we were nothing.” Jack’s expression falters for a split second before he recovers, stepping in even closer until there’s barely any space left between you. 

“Then what are we?” You don’t answer, because you don’t know how. Because if you say it out loud, it becomes real. Jack studies you for a long moment, his eyes searching yours, looking for something—anything. And then, so quietly you almost don’t hear it—

“I want us to be something real.”

Your breath catches, your fingers digging into the railing behind you.

Jack takes a shaky breath, his voice lower now, raw. “I know what we agreed to in the beginning but—” He exhales sharply, shaking his head. “I don’t want to be just some guy you used to sleep with. I don’t want to be the mistake you try to forget.”

Your throat feels tight, your chest aching with something you don’t know how to name. “Jack—”

“No,” he interrupts, his hands flexing at his sides like he wants to reach for you but isn’t sure if he’s allowed to. “Just tell me. If you really don’t feel anything—if this really was just some casual thing to you—tell me, and I’ll walk away.”His voice drops even lower, barely more than a whisper. “But if there’s even a chance—” He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “If there’s even a part of you that feels the same way, just—don’t lie to me.” You look away, staring at the ground, because it’s easier than looking at him. 

Because if you meet his eyes, you’ll break.

Jack lets out a slow breath, nodding like he’s already bracing for the worst. “Okay,” he murmurs, barely audible. “I get it.”

He turns like he’s about to walk away, and something in you panics. Before you can stop yourself, your fingers curl around his wrist. Jack freezes. His breath is uneven when he turns back to you, his gaze darting from your hand on his skin to your face. Your heart is in your throat, pounding so hard you think he might be able to hear it.

And then, finally— “I don’t want you to walk away.” Jack exhales, his eyes closing for a brief moment, like he’s trying to keep himself together. When he opens them again, they’re filled with something so intense, so devastatingly real, it nearly knocks the air from your lungs.

He steps closer, his free hand hesitating for only a second before he cups your jaw, his thumb brushing lightly against your cheek.

“Then don’t make me.” His voice is barely a whisper now, his forehead nearly resting against yours. “Just let me in.” Jack’s breath hitches when you don’t pull away. His fingers tighten slightly where they rest against your jaw, like he’s grounding himself, like he can’t quite believe you’re here, letting this happen. Your chest rises and falls with shallow breaths, your hand still curled around his wrist, keeping him close. For once, you don’t have the energy to fight it—to fight him. Jack shifts slightly, tilting his head just enough that his nose brushes against yours. His lips part, his breath warm against your skin. He’s so close.

 Just a little more and—

“What the fuck is this?” The sharp voice shatters the moment like glass. You jolt back, your pulse spiking as your head snaps toward the open doorway.

Curtis.

Your brother stands just inside the threshold, arms crossed over his chest, his expression a mixture of shock and pure, unfiltered anger. His dark eyes are locked onto Jack, his posture stiff, radiating hostility.

Shit.

Jack straightens but doesn’t step away from you. His jaw clenches as he meets Curtis’ glare, his whole body suddenly tense, like he’s already preparing for whatever’s coming — his body covering most of you as he lets out a soft groan.

“Curtis,” you start, stepping around Jack, but he shakes his head sharply, his lips curling into a bitter smile.

“Oh, don’t fucking ‘Curtis’ me,” he snaps, his gaze flicking between you and Jack. “What the hell is going on here?” You swallow hard, feeling like a kid caught doing something they shouldn’t. 

“It’s not—”

“Don’t lie to me.” Curtis’ voice is tight, low with barely restrained anger. His eyes burn into yours, waiting for an answer, for some kind of explanation that won’t make him want to deck Jack right here and now.

Jack exhales sharply, finally turning to face your brother, stepping forwards and putting himself slightly in front of you. “It’s not exactly what you think.”

Curtis scoffs, his expression twisting. “Oh, really? ‘Cause from where I’m standing, it looks a hell of a lot like you’re messing around with my sister.”

Jack’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t back down. “It’s not like that.”

Curtis lets out a cold laugh, shaking his head. “Right. Because you’re such a committed guy, huh, Hughes? Never had a casual thing in your life?” He takes a step forward, his body language shifting from disbelief to outright anger. “Are you fucking serious?My sister?”

“Curtis—” you try, but he barely even spares you a glance.

“This is what you’ve been sneaking around for?” His voice rises, his gaze locked on you now, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. “Jack fucking Hughes?” He shakes his head, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Jesus Christ.”

Jack takes another step closer, his voice firm. “Neither of us is sneaking around.”

Curtis’ head snaps toward him, his expression thunderous. “No? Then what the fuck do you call this?”

Jack doesn’t flinch. “I care about her.”

Curtis lets out a sharp, humourless laugh. “You care about her?” He gestures between the two of you, his voice laced with disbelief. “What, like you care about all the other girls you’ve been with?”

Jack’s nostrils flare, his whole body going rigid. “That’s not fair.”

“Not fair?” Curtis glares at him, stepping in close enough that they’re nearly chest to chest. “What’s not fair is you treating my little sister like she’s just another one of your hookups.”

Jack’s eyes darken, his fingers twitching at his sides like he’s forcing himself to stay still. His voice is low when he speaks, steady but sharp. “She’s not.”

Curtis scoffs. “Yeah? Then what the hell is she?”

Jack doesn’t hesitate. “She’s everything.” The air between them crackles with tension.

Curtis’ expression falters for half a second before his hands curl into fists, his whole body coiled like a spring. His gaze flickers to you, his jaw tight. “You actually believe this shit?”

You exhale slowly, meeting his eyes. “I—” You hesitate, your throat tightening. “It’s not that simple.” 

Curtis barks out a laugh, taking a step back and raking a hand through his hair. “Not that simple,” he repeats, like he can’t believe what he’s hearing.

Jack shakes his head, his voice edged with frustration. “Look, man, I know this isn’t what you wanted—”

“No, you don’t know,” Curtis snaps, turning back toward him. “You don’t get it, Jack. She’s not—” He cuts himself off, his eyes flickering toward you for the briefest moment before he shakes his head. “She’s not one of them.”

Jack’s expression hardens. “I know that.”

Curtis lets out a bitter laugh. “Do you?”

Jack steps closer again, his voice rough, his whole body radiating tension. “I’m not playing games with her.”

Curtis narrows his eyes. “You really think you’re good enough for her?”

Jack’s jaw clenches, but he doesn’t back down. “I don’t know,” he admits, voice tight. “But I know I’m not gonna walk away just because you don’t like it.”

Curtis stares at him, something unreadable flashing across his face. Then, suddenly, his shoulders shift, and before you can react, he’s moving.

“Curtis—!” you shout, but it’s too late.

His fist flies before either of you can stop it. It connects with Jack’s jaw with a sickening crack, sending his head whipping to the side, Jack barely reacting beyond a sharp inhale. He exhales, his jaw tightening as he lifts a hand to his face, his fingers brushing over the fresh bruise forming just below his cheekbone, a small cut on his cheek from Curtis’s wedding band.

He lets out a slow, steady breath before straightening.

He doesn’t hit back.

Curtis shakes out his hand, his breaths heavy. “Stay the fuck away from her,” he grits out.

Jack wipes at his lip, where a small bead of blood is forming, then lifts his gaze to Curtis—calm, steady. “That’s not your call to make.”

Curtis’ jaw clenches, his nostrils flaring. His gaze flicks toward you, his expression still tight with anger. “Come on. We’re leaving.” You hesitate, glancing at Jack. He’s already looking at you, his eyes soft despite the tension still simmering in the air. And that’s when you realise—he’s waiting for you to decide.

Curtis sees it, too.

“Jesus,” he mutters under his breath, rubbing a hand over his face. “You can’t be serious.” Your pulse pounds. Jack doesn’t say anything, just watches you, his face unreadable but open, waiting, he wants you to make the choice. 

Leave now with your brother and this whole thing is over or stay. 

“You should go, Curtis.” You finally say, a glare focused on your brother as you slip your hand into Jacks, his fingers gripping yours for dear life, “You’ve done enough damage for one day, we can talk about this later.” You conclude tugging Jack behind you as you both slip inside, your hand guiding him through the crowd as you avoid his teammates questioning stares as you shove open the bathroom door slamming it behind the both of you with a click of the lock. 

Jack leans against the bathroom door, exhaling sharply, his fingers still wrapped tightly around yours, his jaw tight. His chest rises and falls with controlled breaths, though the slight tremor in his hands betrays just how hard he’s trying to keep himself together.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he says finally, his voice quieter now, but no less intense.

You shake your head, your heart still pounding against your ribs. “Yes, I did.”

His eyes flicker with something unreadable before he exhales, running a hand through his constantly messy hair. “Curtis might actually fucking kill me.”

You huff out a short, humourless laugh. “Well, considering he already got one good shot in, I’d say he’s off to a great start.” Jack winces as he touches his jaw, the skin already bruising from the hit. You step closer without thinking, your fingers reaching out before you can stop yourself. Jack stills, his gaze locking onto yours as your fingertips ghost over the tender skin.

“You should put some ice on it,” you murmur.

Jack doesn’t move. His breath is warm against your skin, his body still tense but rooted in place. “You don’t have to do this,” he says again, but this time, there’s something else in his voice. Something almost vulnerable.

“I know.” Your fingers trace lightly along the forming bruise, and Jack exhales, his eyes fluttering shut for half a second before they snap open again, pinning you in place.

A beat of silence stretches between you, heavy and electric.

Then, suddenly, he moves. One second, he’s standing there, looking at you like he’s fighting every instinct screaming at him to touch you, and the next, his hands are on your waist, his fingers gripping you like he’s afraid you might disappear if he lets go.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs, his lips hovering just above yours, his breath fanning over your skin. “Please tell me to stop.”

You don’t. You can’t. Instead, you reach up, your fingers threading through the soft strands of his hair as you tug him down to you. Jack doesn’t hesitate. He crashes into you, his lips slanting over yours with a desperation that makes your knees weak.

The kiss is anything but gentle. It’s raw, urgent—like he’s been holding himself back for too long and he can’t anymore. His hands slide up your sides, pressing you against the door, pinning you between him and the cool wood as his lips move against yours like he’s trying to memorise the way you taste, the way you feel beneath his hands.

You gasp against his mouth, and Jack takes full advantage, his tongue sliding against yours, deepening the kiss until you feel dizzy from it. One of his hands moves up, fingers tangling in your hair as he tilts your head just right, devouring every sound you make like it’s the only thing keeping him breathing.

“Fuck,” he mutters against your lips, his voice hoarse, almost wrecked. “You have no idea how much I’ve wanted you.”

You do. Because you’ve wanted him just as much.

Jack groans softly as you tug at his shirt, your fingers slipping beneath the hem, pressing against the warm skin of his stomach.

His muscles flex under your touch, and he leans into you more, like he can’t get close enough.

Someone bangs on the door. “Occupied,” Jack snaps, barely breaking away from your lips before kissing you again, his hands sliding down to grip your thighs, lifting you slightly as he presses you tighter against the door.

Your head is spinning, your skin buzzing, and you know you should stop—should at least slow down—but then Jack pulls back just enough to look at you, his dark eyes searching yours.

“Tell me this is real,” he murmurs, his forehead resting against yours, his breath coming out in uneven pants. “Tell me I’m not making a fucking idiot of myself here.”

Your chest tightens. “Jack—”

“Tell me you want this as much as I do.” His voice is barely a whisper now, but the weight of it crashes into you like a tidal wave.

You reach up, cupping his face gently, your thumbs brushing over the bruise already forming on his cheekbone.

“I do,” you admit, your voice steady despite the way your heart hammers in your chest. “I do, Jack.”

The relief that washes over his face is immediate. He lets out a breath he must have been holding, his grip on you softening just slightly before he kisses you again—slower this time, but just as intense, just as desperate. Like he’s trying to make up for all the time you’ve wasted pretending this wasn’t inevitable. 

Jack’s hands move lower, fingers brushing the hem of your dress before slipping beneath, calloused fingertips dragging along the sensitive skin of your thighs. The touch is light at first, almost hesitant, but when you let out a soft gasp, pressing closer, he groans.

“Fuck,” he mutters, his lips trailing down your jaw, nipping at the skin just beneath your ear. “You’re gonna kill me.”

His hand slides higher, knuckles teasing along the crease where your thigh meets your hip, and you shudder at the contact. Jack tilts his head, watching your face as his fingers move, testing, teasing, until he finally slips them beneath the fabric of your underwear.

You suck in a sharp breath, your fingers digging into his shoulders, and he groans at the feeling. “Already so wet for me,” he murmurs, his voice rough, full of something that makes heat pool low in your stomach. “God, you’re perfect.”

His fingers find your clit, circling in slow, deliberate strokes, sending sparks of pleasure racing through you. Your head tips back against the door, a soft moan slipping from your lips, and Jack swallows the sound with a heated kiss, his movements never stopping, never slowing.

He presses against you, his free hand gripping your waist to keep you steady as he works against your clit, firmer this time. “We don’t have our supplies.” He whispers against the skin of your neck, pulling his fingers away as you let out a whine at the loss of sensation. 

“Jack—” Your voice is breathless, needy, and he shushes you with another kiss, his lips curling into a smirk against yours.

“I know, but it’s going to hurt you.” He grumbles, distracting you by sucking on your neck, sliding your underwear back into place as you shake your head. 

“It’s okay.” You coo, pulling his face away from your skin to look in his eyes. “It’ll only hurt for a little bit.” 

Jack’s expression shifts the moment the words leave your lips. That heat, that hunger—it’s still there, simmering beneath the surface—but something softer overtakes it. Concern. His fingers trace slow, absentminded circles on your thigh, grounding you.

“Baby,” he murmurs, voice gentler now, “I know you’re saying that, but I don’t want you hurting just to give me something.” Your chest tightens, a lump forming in your throat. He knows. Of course he does. You’d told him before, in hushed conversations that never felt like they mattered as much as they do now.

“I want this, Jack,” you say, and it’s the truth. But still, your body hums with the familiar tension of anticipation—of wanting and fearing in equal measure.

Jack tilts his head, watching you like he’s searching for something. Then, slowly, he leans in, pressing the softest of kisses to your lips. “Let me help, okay?” Your breath shudders out of you as he kisses a slow path down your jaw, his hands shifting—one pressing against the small of your back, the other slipping between your thighs again, fingers teasing along the damp fabric of your underwear.

“You’re already so wet for me,” he murmurs, voice rough with restraint, but there’s no rush in his movements now. “That’s good, baby. That’s gonna help.”

You nod, exhaling shakily. Jack hooks his fingers beneath the waistband of your underwear, dragging them down carefully, like he’s giving you time to change your mind. When you don’t, he kneels slightly, lifting one of your thighs over his so he can settle between your legs.

Then you watch as he brings his fingers to his lips, tongue flicking out to wet them before lowering his hand back down, dragging the slick digits along your entrance. The difference is immediate. Where tension had been bracing you for pain, Jack’s touch eases the worst of it, slick warmth helping him slide against you with more ease.

You whimper as his fingers stroke slow, deliberate circles around your entrance, never pushing, never rushing. Jack groans softly, pressing his forehead to yours. “That feel better?”

You nod, breathless.

“Good,” he rasps, lips brushing against yours as he moves again, teasing at your opening until, finally, he slides one finger inside. The stretch is there—but it’s different this time. Less sting, more pressure, more of the sweet, aching fullness you’d always wanted to enjoy without the pain. Jack watches your face the entire time, eyes dark and careful, his free hand stroking soothingly over your side. 

“That’s it, baby. Just like that.” You exhale, body relaxing a little more, and Jack presses a kiss to your temple. 

“We don’t have to rush,” he murmurs. “I just want to make you feel good. You tell me if anything doesn’t.” His words pull a soft laugh from your throat as you glance around the small bathroom, the sound of music playing just outside reminding you exactly where you are.  Jack keeps his pace slow, his touch deliberate. He watches every shift in your expression, every shudder of your breath, like you’re the most important thing in the world.

And to him, maybe you are.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, pressing a lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth as he moves his finger inside you, testing, gauging your reaction. “You’re doing so good for me.”

The praise sends a different kind of warmth through you, pooling in your stomach. You exhale shakily, fingers curling into his shoulders. “Jack…”

He groans at the way you say his name, tilting his head to capture your lips again. This kiss is different—deeper, slower, laced with the same patience he’s giving the rest of you. His free hand strokes up your side, grounding you in the warmth of his touch. After a moment, his movements pause. “Can I try another?” His voice is hushed, full of care, and he doesn’t move until you give him a small nod. Jack swears under his breath when he slides another finger in, moving with even more caution now, waiting for any sign of discomfort. There’s a stretch, a pressure—but not the sharp, stinging pain you were bracing for.

“Still okay?” he asks, his forehead pressed to yours.

You nod, swallowing past the lump in your throat. “Mhm.” Jack exhales like he’s been holding his breath, kissing you again, his fingers moving in slow, careful strokes, coaxing pleasure from you with practiced patience.

 “That’s my girl,” he breathes against your lips. The words make your stomach tighten, pleasure curling low as he works you open, his touch easing some of the tension you didn’t realise you were still holding. Jack shifts, dragging his fingers back just enough to tease at your entrance before pushing in again, curling just right, and a soft moan escapes you before you can stop it.

His lips curl into a smirk against your skin. “There we go,” he murmurs, voice low and rough with approval. “That’s what I wanna hear.” Your cheeks burn, but Jack just kisses you again, deeper this time, like he wants to pull every sound from your lips.

“See?” he whispers, his breath warm against your cheek. “We’ll take our time. I’ll take care of you.” And with the way he’s touching you, the way he’s watching you so intently, so carefully—

You believe him.

Jack’s fingers work you open with slow, careful precision, never pushing too far, never rushing. His lips brush against your jaw, your cheek, the corner of your mouth—small, grounding touches that keep you from slipping too far into your own head.

And it’s working.

The usual tension, the worry that pain will creep in and ruin the moment, is fading. Replaced by something warmer, something sweeter. Pleasure unfurls in slow, steady waves as Jack curls his fingers inside you just right, stroking against that sensitive spot that has your breath catching in your throat.

“Jack—” His name slips out, breathless, needy, and he groans like the sound alone could undo him.

“That’s it, baby,” he murmurs against your lips, his thumb circling your clit in slow, deliberate strokes. “You feel okay?”

You nod, your fingers digging into his shoulders, grounding yourself in the solid warmth of him. “Better then okay.” You hum.

Jack smiles, tilting his head so his nose brushes yours. “I want you to let go for me,” he whispers. “Don’t hold back.” You exhale shakily, thighs trembling as the pleasure builds, coiling tight in your stomach. Jack keeps his pace steady, keeps his lips moving against yours, swallowing every little gasp, every whimper, every soft moan like they belong to him.

“You’re so perfect,” he breathes, his voice rough with want. “So beautiful when you fall apart for me.” His words, his touch, the way he’s looking at you—it’s too much. The coil in your stomach snaps, pleasure crashing over you in warm, shuddering waves. Jack groans as he feels you tighten around his fingers, his movements slowing but never stopping, working you through it, letting you ride out every last pulse of pleasure.

“Fuck, baby,” he mutters, kissing you slow, deep, reverent. “Such a pretty girl.” Your body trembles against him, chest rising and falling in uneven breaths as the aftershocks leave you warm, pliant in his arms. Jack pulls his fingers from you carefully, bringing them to his lips without breaking eye contact, sucking them clean with a low groan.

The sight sends another shiver through you.

Jack smirks, kissing you again, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. “Told you I’d take care of you.” Jack doesn’t let go of you. Even as you tremble, breathless from the high he just pulled from you, he keeps his hands on your hips, grounding you, stroking soft, soothing circles into your skin.

“You still with me, baby?” His voice is rough, but there’s nothing but tenderness in the way he presses a kiss to the side of your neck.

You nod, exhaling shakily. “Yeah.”

Jack hums in approval, his lips curling into a grin against your skin. “Good.” His hands skim down, gripping your thighs, your waist, pulling you flush against him so you can feel exactly how hard he still is.

Your breath catches.

Jack groans at the way your body reacts, his fingers flexing on your skin. “Fuck,” he mutters. “We need to leave— I don’t want to do anything you’re not ready for.” He mumbles, his pupils blown as he looks down at you, the anxiety in your chest easing as you place your hands gently on the sides of his face, shooting him the most reassuring smile you can muster. 

“I want you inside of me.” You almost laugh at the way Jack chokes a little, his mouth falling open as he tries to shake his head, “I’m serious, Jack. I trust you.” His mouth opens and closes, the words failing him as he moves to pull away, your hands holding him steadily, “Please fuck me, Jack.” He doesn’t need you to say anything else before he’s positioning you in front of the mirror with practiced ease. He stands behind you, his body pressed against yours, his hands roaming slow and deliberate.

“Look at yourself,” he murmurs, dragging his lips over the shell of your ear. “Look how perfect you are for me.”

Your cheeks burn, but Jack doesn’t let you turn away. His hands slip beneath the hem of your dress, pushing it up inch by inch until he can pull it over your head, leaving you bare.

“Fuck,” he groans, eyes raking over you in the reflection. His hands slide over your stomach, your thighs, possessive and reverent all at once. “You’re so goddamn beautiful.”

One hand drifts lower, between your legs, teasing, testing. His breath shudders as he feels how wet you still are.

“You still want this?” His voice is hoarse, strained with restraint.

You meet his gaze in the mirror, your own breath coming in uneven pants. “Yes.” Jack lets out a shaky exhale, his forehead pressing against yours for a moment before he steps back just enough to push his jeans down, kicking them aside. Then, he does something that has your stomach twisting with anticipation.

He lifts his hand, palm up, and looks at you through the mirror, his lips curving into a lazy, knowing smirk. “Spit in my hand, baby.” Heat floods through you at the request, at the rasp of his voice, dark and needy. You hesitate for only a second before doing as he asks, watching as your spit pools in his palm. Jack groans, eyes darkening as he brings his hand down, slicking himself up with slow, teasing strokes. “Fuck, that’s hot,” he mutters, squeezing the base of his cock before lining himself up behind you.

His free hand returns to your waist, gripping you firmly as he leans in, lips brushing against your ear. “Keep watching,” he murmurs, voice thick with need.

Then, he pushes in.

The stretch is slow, careful, but still enough to steal the breath from your lungs, your eyes squeezing shut as he rubs a soft hand over your back. Jack groans, his fingers tightening on your waist as he sinks deeper, inch by inch, until he’s fully seated inside you.

“Fuck, I’m sorry” he breathes, forehead pressing to the back of your shoulder.  You whimper, fingers gripping the edge of the counter as your body adjusts, the fullness almost overwhelming. Jack stills, holding himself back, his other hand continuing to rub slow, soothing circles against your skin.

“You okay?” His voice is softer now, laced with patience, with care.

You swallow, exhaling a shaky breath before nodding. “Yeah,” you whisper. “Move, Jack.” 

Jack pulls back slightly before thrusting in again, setting a slow, deliberate pace, his eyes locked on yours in the mirror. “That’s it, baby,” he groans. “Look at how good you take me.” And when you do—when you see the way your bodies fit together, the way he holds you so tightly, like he never wants to let go—

Jack's thrusts become deeper, more urgent, his fingers digging into your hips as he chases his own release, and you can feel the tension building again—an undeniable pull, something that tells you this is where everything is supposed to fall into place. Your breath quickens, your hands gripping the counter so tightly you think your knuckles might crack, but you don’t care. It’s all heat and friction, and the way he fills you, the way his body presses against yours—it’s all so perfect, so desperate.

And then, suddenly, a sharp knock on the door breaks through the haze of desire.

"Hey," a voice calls from the other side, cutting through the charged silence like a knife. "Can you guys not fuck in the bathroom?"

Your body freezes, Jack’s movements halting just as quickly. You both stare at the door, eyes wide, hearts still racing, but now, a mix of embarrassment and disbelief swirling inside you.

"Luke," Jack groans, his voice thick with frustration, his forehead resting against the back of your shoulder. "Are you fucking serious right now?"

The voice on the other side of the door doesn't sound particularly concerned. "I’m just saying," Luke continues, "there’s a whole party out here. The bathroom's not your private fuck zone."

You can't help it. You burst into a laugh, your body shaking with the absurdity of it all. Jack lets out a low groan, pulling out slowly and backing away from you, frustration and amusement both warring on his face.

"Alright," Jack says, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "We’ll wrap it up, Luke, just give us a damn second." You turn to face Jack, both of you still catching your breath, and you share a look, the tension from the moment still hanging thick in the air—but now, at least, it’s softened by the ridiculousness of Luke’s timing.

"Can you believe that?" you laugh, wiping a tear from your eye.

Jack shakes his head, a small smirk tugging at his lips. "Only you and I would get interrupted in the middle of something like this."

Another knock.

"Seriously, guys! The party’s waiting. Come on!"

You both laugh again, the situation breaking the heavy atmosphere as you gather yourselves, still breathless but with a grin. “Yeah, yeah,” you mutter, reaching for your clothes. “We’ll be out in a minute, Luke. Don’t start a riot.”

As you both adjust yourselves, Jack leans in for one last kiss, soft and full of promise.

"I guess we’ll just have to finish this later," he murmurs against your lips.

You smile, a playful glint in your eyes. "You better believe it." Jack pauses for a moment his eyes catching his own reflection in the mirror as he winces lightly. 

“I really hope your brother isn’t still here.” 

[peachsayshi]

₊ ⊹ . ݁ THE KING  ₊ ⊹ .

(boxer!sukuna x reader)

⊹ tags: ryomen sukuna x female reader; childhood friends; character mentions: uraume - satoru gojo; unresolved tension; sukuna is oh so in love; fluffy but a mix of angst/smut/fluff; domestic; non curse au; p in v sex; unprotected sex; dry humping; making out; oral sex;

:about: you've known sukuna before he was a world boxing champion, when he was just a scrawny kid who used to hide behind your legs when you were both in kindergarten. sukuna is growing tired of the fame and fortune, and all he really wants is to fall into the arms of the one person who he's always considered his home.

this fic is one shot. I'll happily answer any lore questions regarding boxer!sukuna x reader, but there will not be a part two or more parts of their story. It is a standalone.

wc: 19K+

Sukuna steps out of the shower, his body wound up in a tight coil after the night's fight. He presses the bridge of his nose together to relieve his throbbing head, but his brow is searing with pain. When he opens his eyes he catches a reflection of his self in the bathroom mirror- a split on his bottom lip, a cut on the arch of his right eyebrow and a slight bruise on his left cheek. 

It's rare for him to look this battered after a match. 

He's been untouchable for years, he's almost forgotten what it's like to take a few good hits in the ring. 

"Do you want to talk about what happened?" 

His eyes flicker up toward Uraume, who seems to have appeared out of nowhere.  

He shakes his head at his manager. "Nothing happened, I won. Isn't that a good thing?"

Uraume narrows their gaze, sharp like a sly little fox. They can read Sukuna like a book, but Sukuna chooses to play ignorant and brushes off their knowing stare. 

He knows that the inquisition isn't about the sponsors, the money, or the win. 

He also knows that Uraume never asks questions that they don’t know the possible answer to. 

Thankfully, his manager just sighs. 

"The limo is outside waiting to take you to the party," they state, their heavy exhale indicating that they know Sukuna won't own up to what they are trying to prod out of him. 

"Fuck," Sukuna grumbles. The towel hangs low on his hips, and he throws the one that is around his neck onto the ground. He steps outside to the locker room and proceeds to change. He dries off, puts on his boxers and picks up his black t-shirt before pulling it over his bare chest marked with ink. He then tugs on his jeans, and secures his belt around the waist. "Do I have to go to that?" 

Uraume shrugs, "Don't you want to parade your big victory over Satoru Gojo to the rest of the world?" his manager adds, slipping both hands into their pocket as they stride casually toward Sukuna who is merely trying to gather the rest of  his things. 

The last touch is his signature silver chain necklace. He hooks the accessory around his neck, while mentally preparing himself for the crowd waiting for him outside. For the voices that would be screaming out his name, and the obnoxious paparazzi who can't seem to grasp the concept of personal space. 

They all gawk at him like he's a endangered animal at the zoo.  

His chest seizes at the thought. 

He used to gloat over being in the spotlight. He took to stardom with an extreme sense of pride, but the thought of it right now just makes his skin crawl uncomfortably. 

The only thing that Ryomen Sukuna wanted at this very moment, is to go home in fucking peace. 

He’s given the fans and the world what they wanted. 

"Little shit got what was coming to him," he blurts out in response to Uraume. "It'll take him a while to lick his wounds and get over his broken pride..." 

Uraume chuckles, "and I was worried that he might have actually had an advantage over you..." 

Sukuna swallows the sudden lump in his throat. 

God he was fucking tired. His whole body is aching, begging him to get some much needed rest. He hadn’t trained this hard in a long time. The strict diet, the isolation, the strenuous days in the gym and in the training ring slowly started filtering into him in doses. 

"Almost," he admits quietly, a little bitter over the reality of the situation that he was close to losing. "He's good for his age. Really good actually." 

Uraume's face falls at that. "You don't sound like yourself, my king," they tease half-heartedly, addressing Sukuna by yet another title which he earned in the ring. 

"The King", "The Beast", “The Champ”, “Monster of The Ring”…

There was a time when he was younger, when the fire for the fight burned inside him with such intense conviction, that he found dignity in the titles that he's earned from every match. The thrilling sensation of him standing in the middle of the ring, his hands raised with victorious joy as he looked down at his opponent while the crowd would cheer for him like he was a figure of the divine, used to mean a great deal to him. 

But those titles feel…hollow. An old skin which Sukuna unknowingly shrugged off without even realizing it. 

"I'm just exhausted," he breathes with a hint of frustration, giving Uraume a reply after allowing his mind to drift for a few seconds. "I've got a raging headache and my shoulder is killing me." 

He slings his bag over his good arm, before turning to face his manager. 

The pair walk down towards the end of the hallway, and Sukuna can already hear the muffled voices from the press that have slowly gathered inside. He elongates his spine naturally as he holds a domineering pose. He quietly huffs out a breath and tries to steady the uneasiness coursing through his veins. The second the press lay their eyes on him, they stampede towards Sukuna like dogs off their leash. A flash of white and blue flickers around him, disorienting him for a single moment. 

"Hey, champ! How does it feel to knock out Satoru Gojo after everything he said this season?" 

"Way to prove that you're still The Beast of the Ring! What's next for our King?" 

"You've held your championship title for ten consecutive years! How do you go up from here?"

"Sukuna! Sukuna! Is it true that you've just locked in a multi-million dollar deal with Nike?"  

Uraume steadies the crowd, protectively standing in front of Sukuna as they gesture everyone to calm down. 

Despite the sheer difference in their size, Uraume has a natural way of commanding a room. 

That's one thing Sukuna has always been grateful for regarding his manager; Uraume always looked out for his best interest first.  

"Hello, everyone," they politely speak, their voice calm and pleasant. "While we appreciate the enthusiasm; our champion, Ryomen Sukuna, will only be making a single statement. He's had a long night and needs his rest," they announce, before looking over their shoulder and giving Sukuna a nod of approval to say what he needs to say. 

The man is thankful for Uraume every single day. He already informed them earlier that he wasn't interested in any post-match interview or conversations with the press, and Uraume happily obliged by accepting the privacy that he desperately needed. 

Sukuna tightens his grip around the gym bag over his shoulder. He stares at the small audience before him before clearing his throat to speak. "Young fighters like to run their mouth. I know because I used to be one of them. It's easy to be all bark and no bite. But in my case, I came out teeth first-" he states with a patronizing tone, noticing the press eagerly hang onto his every word and even laughing at his snide remark. 

They are waiting for a brutal comment from the badass himself, for him to add the cherry on top of all the shit-talk he’s already dished out. 

But Sukuna acknowledges that there is no place for it now. 

He doesn't need to add more to the hurt he's already caused to Satoru Gojo. 

Everything was settled in the ring, and now it was over. 

"However, I have to admit that this was one of the best fights of my career. I had fun. He's been a thorn by my side but I respect Satoru, and I know he has a brilliant career on the horizon. That's all I have to say about that for now. Have a good night." 

He steps away from the press, who trail at his feet like a pack of rats rattling off question after question as Uraume tries to console their demands. His manager delays their footing, all the while Sukuna finds the rest of his entourage at the arena exit. 

A string of bodyguards help him get through the second crowd of loyal fans who have gathered. They are waving phones in the air, begging for photos and videos. Sukuna obliges with a few, trying his best to fight off the shakes that's starting to make his hand tremble slightly. People lift up their shirts, flash their cleavage and pull out posters, bras and clothes for him to sign. He does so, his signature faltering from a clean string of letters to a fast doodle of his name. His fans offer him flowers, art, and mementos which he takes, and whatever extra he can't carry he hands off to one of his guards. When he's finally had enough of giving himself to the fans, he bids everyone a wave as his bodyguards escort him to the private parking lot in the back of the arena. 

Sukuna doesn't even realize how hard his heart had started hammering until he's embraced back into the quiet again. He feels incredibly uncomfortable in his own skin, and he isn't sure if it's the apprehension or the adrenaline wearing off from the fight. The phone in his pocket buzzes, probably Uraume wanting to make sure he's made it safely to his vehicle, but he can’t bring himself to answer the call. 

"Sir," one of his bodyguards states, "There's a VIP who is expecting to see you..." 

"So?" Sukuna scoffs, the black Mercedes in the distance a sanctuary. "I don't want to fucking see them." 

"Well, you see, they insisted. They weren't taking no for an answer." 

"And you would be shit at your job if you just let them roll over you like that," Sukuna begrudgingly replies. 

Sukuna wasn't particularly fond of the VIP guest lists. A majority of them were people who wanted to fawn over him, or simply weasel their way into his pants. The other half were people with deeper pockets trying trying to bargain him into fixing fights so that they can win big bucks on their bets.

Sukuna did not have the time or patience for the latter, and even the former as well. 

Especially tonight. 

"Actually, Sir, she's waiting for you as we speak-" the bodyguard stammers, having to look up when he addresses Sukuna. 

The champion stops abruptly to give him a puzzled stare and a piece of his mind over his bodyguard’s stupidity, but his attention is sharply drawn back to the car when he notices a figure step out of the Mercedes. 

You're wearing a denim skirt, a fitted white top and a pair of black boots. Sukuna’s heart skips a beat, noticing that your hair looks a little different from when he last saw you. A sparkle of silver glitters on your neck that matches his own chain, and you beam at him with a bright smile that steadies his soul.

  The click of your heels echo a little louder from the distance as you approach him, waving your fingers delicately in his direction to say your first hello. Sukuna's feet moves faster than the rest of him. He drops his bag off his shoulder, the gifts in his hands splay across the concrete ground and he scoops you up in his arms before spinning you in the air the second he wraps his arms around you. 

You giggle at his greeting, your body trapped in a blanket of muscle and cologne. Your fingers thread between the strands of his red hair, tears pricking your eyes at the sight of your best and oldest friend. 

Sukuna squeezes you tightly, "they should have just told me it was you by name," he exhales with a hint of annoyance, then carefully places you back down to rest your feet on the ground. 

You laugh under your breath, "Don't worry, I gave them hell for it. I told them that I'm the only VIP who mattered considering I have been on that list the longest...." 

You try to loosen your grip but Sukuna tenses up, so you ease back into his hug. 

He didn’t want to let go just yet. 

And truthfully, neither do you. 

"Hi, princess," he whispers in your ear, his voice deep and thick with fatigue. 

"Hey, 'kuna" you reply softly, your fingers curling around the back of his neck, as your heart beats heavily against his now relaxed chest. 

₊ ⊹ .

The light from the car's backseat illuminates Sukuna's ruggedly handsome face. You cup his jaw between your fingers, and lightly trace your thumb over the cut on his swollen lip. Your eyes track upward and you wince at the gash across his brow. 

"He got a few good hits on you didn't he?" you point out, not as a question necessarily but more as a statement of the obvious. 

"A few good hits doesn't mean shit..." 

"When was the last time you got hit this bad in the ring?" you press. 

"I fight for a living, someone was bound to land a punch someday. Besides, it's not a concern. I had my good luck charm tonight without even knowing it..." he responds with a wolfish grin. 

You jab him playfully in the chest. "You're not made of steel you know? You had me concerned for a second..." 

"I roughed him up too," Sukuna states with a pout, "you're all acting like he walked away completely unscathed..." 

He slings an arm over your shoulder, his strength pushing your body weight to lean closer against his side. You shake your head with disapproval as you press the button to switch off the light above you both. 

The city moves past you in a haze, but you can't stop taking in the man before you. 

Ryomen Sukuna. 

The first time you met him was on the playground of your old kindergarten. You were all outdoors, and you noticed that these two bigger kids were knocking him around. The kindergarten teachers weren't anywhere to be seen. At the clear imbalance of power and with your sheer sense of goodwill, you decided to go over there and help. 

Sukuna had just joined your class only three weeks before that. He was the smallest kid, and had a hard time keeping up with everyone else. Everyone made fun of him and called him "chili crisp"  because of his hair. They teased him constantly for how he looked, how he dressed, and how he spoke and simply refused to play with him. 

Being young and impressionable, you never engaged. But you didn't do anything to help Sukuna either. It made you ache seeing him treated this way, and this time you weren't just going to let it slide anymore. 

Sukuna did nothing to deserve this treatment in the first place. 

However, despite his small stature, Sukuna was a fighter even then. 

He kept getting up even if it meant that he would just be shoved down once again. 

You remember walking up to both those kids and grabbing them by the collar. You yanked them off, placing yourself in between them and Sukuna before scolding them both for their terrible behavior. 

"I'm gonna tell!" you squealed with a furious point of your finger, threatening them with snitching words. "And if I ever see you hurt him, I'm going to make sure everyone knows how bad you are! And you’ll get into so much trouble with the teachers!”

You sharply kicked them both in their heels, and watched the kids scamper off, a little more intimidated now that someone they deemed as an equal threat entered the playing filed. Once they were gone, you turned toward Sukuna who was planted on the concrete ground. He was wiping away his snotty nose and trying to hide his tears. 

You scratched the back of your head nervously, your throat all itchy and tight from the sight of him. 

"You're-you're not a chili crisp," was all you could think of telling him in that moment. You gave him a small but kind smile, before offering him both your hands and helping him on his feet. 

He was a whole head and shoulder shorter than you were back then. His clothes barely hung onto his body. He had to fix up his t-shirt and readjust his shorts. 

"I know that," he answered with irritation, and a scowl that never seemed to have left him. 

You assisted in brushing the dust off him. 

"Your name is Ryo-men Su-ku-na?" you asked, breaking down the pronunciation of his name to make sure you said it correctly. 

He nodded his head quietly. 

You gave him another tender grin, and reached out for his hand before introducing yourself. 

"I know who you are, I'm not stupid." 

You frowned at his sharp response. "I never said you were." 

The two of you stood there facing one another in awkward silence, unsure of how to proceed from the moment. 

You shifted your weight from one foot to the next, kicking a random little rock on the ground. "Those kids are stupid." 

"Yeah, they are." He grumbled through gritted teeth. 

"So, if I'm not stupid and you're not stupid, why don't we be friends?" 

Sukuna's eyes widened slightly at your words, like he couldn't believe what you said. 

"Friends?" 

"Yeah!" you squeaked with a little more excitement. "You'll have someone to sit next to and play with every day!" 

He nervously gripped the hem of his tee. 

He never gave you a real response, but the next day he showed up and took a seat right next to you in class.

You were both six years old, and have been insuperable ever since. 

₊ ⊹ .

You press your cheek against his broad shoulder, and Sukuna sighs as his body melts into the leather seat underneath him. His hand gently rubs your own shoulder, with the two of you sitting in silence together as you have done many times before. He instructs the driver to take you both back to his penthouse, disregarding some after party that he's expected to attend. 

At the call, your heart flutters with anticipation because it was a clear sign indicating that he wanted to be alone with you. 

You shivered thinking of the last time that happened. 

It's hard to believe that this version of Sukuna co-exists with the person you've known for a majority of your life. 

The day after he sat next to you in kindergarten, everything changed for the better. 

Sukuna still grimaced at everyone else, but kids no longer picked fights with him and he had a warming smile that was reserved for you alone. 

Whether in class or outside of school, you both spent every spare moment that you could together. You were glued to the hip like two peas in a pod. Your parents adored him, doted on Sukuna despite him resisting their affection. It was only one night, when he was having yet another sleepover at your place, where you finally asked him how is he able to hang out with you all the time. 

Sukuna revealed a truth that broke your heart entirely. 

“Here is better than being home. Usually it's just me..." 

"Just you?" you whispered innocently, "but your mom and dad?" 

You watched him shrink into his blanket with uncertainty. "Don't know. I live with my Grandpa. He works a lot..." 

It's only later in your life where you learnt the full story. 

Sukuna’s parents abandoned him, leaving him with his grandfather to pursue reckless adventures together. At the time Sukuna was only three years old. His grandfather worked hard to provide for the boy, but he was an aging old man and didn’t expect to be responsible for such a young child. Sukuna's grandfather always showed deep gratitude to your parents for helping out and providing Sukuna with another safe space that gave him some much needed stress relief on his end. 

His daughter eventually returned, in tow this time with Sukuna’s half brother Yuji. His dead beat dad was gone for good. But by then Sukuna was already fourteen. 

He’s always had a complex relationship with his family, but things seem to be better with his brother. The two of them could pass off as identical twins, it was almost scary how alike they looked. 

You loved Yuji; he was a living antithesis of his older brother. Always perky, smiling so bright it’s like the sun follows his footsteps. 

Sukuna, on the other hand, carried the shadow and gloom of a waning moon. 

Your childhood and early adolescent years were precious, cherished moments and memories that solidified the strength of your relationship. But despite everything, you were the only person who saw how bright Sukuna's own light could shine. 

The driver finally parks the car in front of one of the most expensive buildings in Tokyo. Sukuna gets out first, and extends a hand into the vehicle to help grab yours. The touch sends tingles up your arm, but you do your best not to read into the reaction just yet. 

The two of you enter the building, passing the security who simply tilts their head in acknowledgment, but from your peripheral vision you notice Sukuna’s eyes shifting around his environment.

“No cameras,” you reassure him with a squeeze to his bicep. “No paparazzi…” 

Sukuna was aware of what he signed up for with fame, but that did not mean that you had to be subjected to the aggressive violation of privacy. 

And after everything that happened, after the horrific clashing of both your worlds, he felt himself breathe a huge sigh of relief. 

“They probably think I am showing up to the victory party,” he answered with gratitude.

The elevator rings, the doors opening as you both step inside. 

Sukuna hits the button to the penthouse suite, and from the way his shoulders slump you can tell there is something off about his demeanor. 

This isn’t the Ryomen you knew who walked away from a fight with the buzz of the winner. 

He’s dimmed. 

A bulb that’s flickering. 

Something’s wrong, you thought, looping your arm around his and keeping your eyes on the numbers increasing as you swallow your concern. 

₊ ⊹ .

Puberty didn’t hit Sukuna; it struck him like a brick over his head. 

At sixteen years old, Sukuna was no longer the loser kid that everyone picked on. He was a tower, a watchful pillar that looked down on those around him with an intimidating stare. All of a sudden this scrawny boy shot up like a tree, his body springing into a new version of himself. His voice broke, dropping octaves lower than the soft tone of what it used to be. His shoulders broadened, lean muscle forming since he spent most of his time wrestling and boxing.  

He became the bad boy that everyone blushed and fawned over. 

The athlete that people admired.

His coaches loved him - called him a prodigy, and a star of the future.

Sukuna carried himself with plenty of self respect, and was extremely well spoken. Outside of his athletics he enjoyed reading and learning history, and his venture into sports only happened because it kept him busy and gave him some much needed space away from his home. He was readjust to a new life with his mom back in the picture, and a brother who was five years younger than him. At first it was simply an escape, but once he settled into the atmosphere of it all, it gave him a sense of structure. Sukuna was diligent about his training and academics, outsmarting and outplaying almost everyone around him. His motivation was fueled with every game and competition, and you quickly saw that Sukuna only had the expectation of being a winner and nothing else. 

Navigating your teenage years was a bit tough for both of you. 

It began with one sleep over just a year prior, the moment where you both recognized that things couldn’t progress as casually as they used to. You woke up tangled in each other’s arms, hyper aware of your bodies and the parts that were blooming. 

Sukuna slept on the sofa every sleep over after that. 

Thanks to your eruptive hormones, the both you bickered often and frequently. As you and Sukuna started understanding your own senses of selves, a hint of distance started to grow. For a long time the two of you only ever had each other, but with Sukuna now a part of the athletic group and you falling in line with your own little clique, the both of you were finding some time away from each other and identifying who you were without the other person around. 

However, you always came back to one another, like two little magnets seeking each other out. 

It’s all you’ve ever known since you were six. 

One afternoon, while hanging out in the school’s basketball court, Sukuna turned to face you as you paced behind him while he was throwing some shots for fun.

“They think you’re my girlfriend,” he casually stated, referencing his new set of friends who always studied you with intense curiosity. 

Your face burned multiple degrees hotter than it should. 

“W-what?” You stammered. 

“Yeah,” he answered nonchalantly, and you watched him dribble the basketball as the awkwardness settled.  

“That’s…that’s weird…” was all you could think of adding on. “You told them I am not, right?” 

Sukuna furrowed his brows and hummed. But he nodded his head. 

“Just because we are friends that doesn’t automatically mean that we are “boyfriend and girlfriend”,” you insisted, using air quotes to emphasize your statement. 

Sukuna turned so his back was to you, and tossed the ball directly into the ring. 

“That’s what I told them…” he reassured, but something about his tone didn’t sit right with you. 

The summer that followed - Sukuna’s grandfather, mom and brother took a trip away. Sukuna declined to join since he was participating in a tournament. After his wrestling team came out victorious, he decided to throw a secret bash at his place to celebrate. 

You were there helping him hide away all the fragile items, before staring at him in shock when he placed a few beer cans on his kitchen counter. 

“How did you get that?” You asked in a low whisper, afraid that you both might somehow get caught for doing something that you aren’t supposed to. 

He just gave you a cheeky grin. “Don’t worry about it, Princess…” 

That nickname stuck on you like glue. It’s something Sukuna called you with annoyance when you were both kids, and you used to call him an angry dragon in return. Even though you stopped using that silly term, for some reason Sukuna’s pet name morphed into one of endearment and affection which he kept using. 

“It’s just the team and a couple of girls that the guys have been trying to get with…” he ensured, “The guys wanted the beers, so I managed to sneak some from my grandfather’s stash…” 

“And what if he finds out?” 

Sukuna laughs, “that old man can’t even remember what day it is. I’m sure he won’t notice a few beer cans missing…” 

That night you had your first secret party, your first sip of beer and your first kiss; it was one of those core memories that lingered that was reminiscent of the adrenaline rush from living out the freedom of being young with no responsibilities. You don’t remember who it was who called out the idea of playing seven minutes in heaven, but suddenly all of you were sitting in a circle spinning an empty bottle on Sukuna’s grandfather’s worn rug. Your heart sat at your throat, your eyes fixated on the piece of twirling glass, half wondering who it would land on. You watched as couples disappeared into Sukuna’s room, everyone snickering in a circle thinking about what the potential couples could possibly be doing. 

The boys were crude with their commentary, and the girls giggled with feign disgust. 

Some people came out looking displeased, clearly unamused by what they experienced, while others had a look of euphoria on their faces. 

When the bottle landed on you, the first person you found yourself seeking out was Sukuna. 

However, the other end of the bottle wasn’t pointing to him, but to one of his teammates. 

His friend’s eyes widen with intrigue, a cute smile forming on his pouty lips. 

Your own cheeks warmed with curiosity. 

He helped you onto your feet, but the two of you were struck with an abrupt question that had you pausing your movements. 

“Do you want to do this?” Sukuna pointedly asked, his focus on you alone and no one else. 

There was a grave but serious look resting firmly on his face. 

Something about his stare made you uncomfortable, though you couldn’t place why. With the eyes of everyone else on you and his teammate, you instantly wanted to divert the intense attention elsewhere. 

“Of course!” You said with a casual shrug, then grabbed his teammate’s hand and led him into Sukuna’s bedroom. 

You’ve been in here countless of times, never once feeling uncomfortable in this space. But this time, you were quite aware of the state of his bed, of the slightly rumpled sheets that were tugged from edge to edge. Your mouth went dry, your body suddenly trying to recollect every movie, book and comic that explained or depicted the intimacies between two people. 

Two hands touched your waist, spinning you on your feet. 

“Time’s ticking,” his friend said. “We shouldn’t waste it…” 

“I’ve never done this before…” you blurted out. 

“I haven’t either…” he answered kindly, and that made you feel better. 

“Okay…” you said, before placing your hands awkwardly on his shoulder. 

“Let’s just start with a kiss…” he suggested and then leaned forward. 

You were frozen then, unsure of what to do. You stood there with wide eyes as you felt his lips on yours, the sensation making your belly tingle. 

He pulled away. 

“That wasn’t too bed…” you admitted and he laughed. 

“Do you want to try?” He asked. 

Your first initiated kiss wasn’t magical, nor was it horrendous as some of your other friends experienced. Even now when you think about it - the only memory that hits you is one of innocent exploration. It took a minute for you to get comfortable with his prodding tongue, to figure out the clash between lips and teeth, and to allow his wet muscle to access our mouth and glide over your own. The sensation reminded you of sticky, tacky popsicles that clung to your lips in summers past. 

It was fun…until a loud bang startled you both, making you split from each other’s arms like opposing forces. 

“Time’s up,” Sukuna growled, before barging in without even so much as asking if you were decent like he did with the other pairs. 

The look he gave his teammate was terrifying, even you couldn’t help but gulp. 

His friend let out a nervous giggle, scratching the back of his head as he scurried his way out. “Damn, that was fast!” He tittered nervously, his voice cracking slightly towards the end. 

Sukuna narrowed his gaze as he watched him leave the room. Meanwhile, you both stood there facing each other, noticing his nostrils flaring as your breath rose and fell. 

“What?” You questioned, returning his hard stare with an even stronger glare. 

He huffed out a breath through his nose, “are you okay?” he asked, in an attempt to compose his clearly frazzled state. 

“Yes!” You blurted back, a little shaken. “Was that even seven minutes?” 

Sukuna grimaced, holding onto your eyes before he stormed out of his room, scoffing with annoyance at your response. 

Neither of you really spoke about the awkwardness of that moment, and instead carried into the heat of that summer like nothing even happened. 

But, what did hurt you after that, was that Sukuna never invited you to any of his “parties” again. 

He fibbed and said it was just “a team thing”, but you eventually heard about the other attendees at the party, and only through the grapevine found out about Sukuna’s first kiss.

It felt like a betrayal in its own way, this sudden shakiness in your friendship as uncertain as tectonic plates waiting to crash into a shattering earthquake. 

You called him one night to confront him, asking him why he wouldn’t tell you about his first kiss when you both should be able to talk about everything. But that conversation just resulted in an argument, a blow out that felt like a collapse in your world. 

You both didn’t speak to each other until the end of that summer, when Sukuna finally waved the white flag by crawling to your front door late one evening with some ice cream as a peace offering. 

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, while you both sat on the sidewalk, scooping wooden spoons into the tub of vanilla with chocolate chips. 

It’s the first time he’s ever apologized to you. 

Even when you were kids, Sukuna refused to ever say he was sorry. 

He would just pout angrily before over compensating with his sweetness to show you that he didn’t mean it. 

But not this time. 

You licked the vanilla off the spoon, biting down on the rich chocolate chunks, and hoping that the tears wouldn’t fall from your eyes from how your chest swelled at his remorse. 

Sukuna draped an arm around your shoulder, “I hate that things have been weird between us.” 

“You made them weird…” you mumbled and he just sighed. 

“‘Yes,” he begrudgingly admitted, “yes, I did…” 

You turned to look up at him, and he gave you a solemn smile. 

“I’m a little possessive of you, I realize…” he explained, his lips forming into that small frown, mirroring his childlike expression. 

“A little?” you answered back with a snarky tone. 

“You’re my best friend,” he admitted, his eyes downcast with regret. “You have always been my person.” 

“You’re my person too, ‘kuna…” you murmured, “but…but being best friends means that we have to trust each other. That we can’t just…hurt each other. That we should stop being honest or talking to one another when things get bad…that we can’t face things that make us…I don’t know, feel weird and stuff…” 

He rested his chin on the top of your head, the two of you finally bridging the gap of what seemed to be the first real challenge of your friendship. 

“It was a shit kiss…” he sighed, “I was just too fucking embarrassed to tell you.” 

You gazed up at him from underneath your lashes. 

“Why?” You said with a light laugh.  

Sukuna’s attention dipped to your mouth for a split second and back to your eyes again. “I don’t know. You just seemed to have enjoyed yours in comparison. I felt like I lost a game or something. I didn’t want to admit that mine was awkward and wet and just…not fucking good…” 

You laughed at that. 

“Everything with you is a competition…” 

“Not everything…” 

You nudged his stomach playfully with your elbow. “Do you remember when we played Mario Kart for the first time? When you lost three rounds in a row and nearly ripped my head off?” 

“How was I supposed to know you are freakishly good at that game?” 

You laughed, “I stay the reigning champion of rainbow road!” 

“You stay a pain in my ass…” 

You rolled your eyes, “a pain in your ass that will never leave you, so stop complaining about it…” 

Sukuna exhales, “It was…a bad kiss,” he admitted shyly, “She was so damn skittish, and I think I was too. I didn’t…I didn’t think it would be so…ugh. It was just not the right person…” 

“Or maybe you were just nervous…” you answered honestly. 

Sukuna shook his head. 

“No, I know it wasn’t the right person…” he said with confidence. 

You unraveled from his hold for a moment to look deep into those heated eyes. 

“Can I say something?” he questioned, the tips of his ears turning slightly red, a blush you’ve seen before but never realized how adorable it actually looked on him until this moment. 

“Anything”

“I don’t want you to think I am being weird or take this the wrong way…” Sukuna explained, pausing for a single breath before continuing. “I just thought the first person I would’ve kissed would have been…well, you… 

The world went still in that moment. All you could hear was the soft rustle of the trees in the distance, and all you could see was the open vulnerability of Sukuna’s heart resting on his face. 

It’s incredibly rare for him to even show it, your friend guarding that part of himself with such conviction. 

“Oh…” 

“But then I realized that you’re not supposed to be kissing your best friend,” he added on, stomping on the spark that flickered between you both before it even had a chance to even light. 

“No,” you agreed quickly, your eyes darting to the tub of ice cream. You pressed the back of your spoon into the creamy texture, doing your best to ignore the sudden pulse in your chest. 

“My second kiss was a lot better that’s for sure…” Sukuna rambled on, digging his spoon around yours as he scooped himself another serving of ice cream. “Way better actually…and on round three I think I got the hang of it…” 

You swallowed the tiny lump in your throat. “I don’t need to know the gross details, please,” you implored, though your stomach rolled with a hint of nausea at the reality that he’s kissed more people than you expected. 

You never admitted it out loud, but the confession made you a little jealous. 

If you were an option in his head…why didn’t he just ask? 

₊ ⊹ .

. 

Sukuna lost his virginity to a freshman college student a year later when he snuck into a party with two of his former teammates. You lost yours on the night of your graduation party to the same boy you kissed for the first time. You and Sukuna were expected to attend the same university (with him obtaining a full scholarship for academic excellence), but your friend had deviated from the shared path after being scouted. The two of you commuted to see each other often, with you visiting him when he was training and him stopping by the campus whenever he had free time. 

You and Sukuna knew about the other person’s intimate lives from the stories you shared, and despite continuously being plagued with constant accusations of being “more than friends”, you both agreed never to allow that discomforting prospect to intervene with your friendship again after that terribly awkward summer.

Rather than ignore the fact that you were growing to be even more beautiful by the day, Sukuna just became extremely blunt around you. He didn’t hide his eyes checking you out, noticing how your curves were starting to fill out and how you began to mature into your own features. He confidently spoke about how attractive you were, and often boosted your ego in ways that only enhanced your own confidence. 

You enjoyed reminding him that once upon a time he thought “girls were disgusting” and “looked funny”. 

“Let’s not forget I am the first guy to marry you,” he joked, recalling a game you both used to play where you pretended to be characters from a fantasy realm. 

“Actually you were the first dragon to marry me,” you clarified, because Sukuna loathed the prospect of playing a prince. “I don’t really think it counts…” 

“Maybe not - but all these guys fawning over you are going to find out you’re some kind of monster fucker and start running in the other direction…” 

It was safe to say that the banter between you both never changed.

You on the other hand, were recognizing just how handsome Sukuna was becoming too. You’ve seen him shirtless a million times up until this point, but something about watching the definition of muscle build into his new physique, and noticing the way manhood slowly enveloped his body, began to hit you in different ways. This was especially noticeable when you would watch him train in the ring, paying attention to the fact that Sukuna wasn’t built just like any average person. It didn’t even occur to you how incredibly strong he had become until he would lift or move your body around like you were weightless and not a living, breathing human with physical mass. 

One evening, while you both were walking back to your dorm from a dinner at a cheap ramen bar, Sukuna had the audacity to pick you up and throw you over his shoulder because “you couldn’t keep up with his pace”. 

All of a sudden, you were acutely aware that the scrawny boy that you used to protect was now all grown up. 

Sukuna morphed into brick and stone, while you were merely glass. 

For some reason, it put a strain on your heart. 

You guys really weren’t kids anymore. 

This was only solidified a year and a half into his career when Sukuna fought in his first professional tournament at twenty years old. The man dominated the ring against his opponent. He broke the record of the most knock outs and became a household name almost overnight. 

“The King”

Time moved at double speed after that. 

Your fingers that were clinging to bits of nostalgia weren’t able to keep them from it slipping between your grasp. Things were happening in a blur, and the sudden shift in Sukuna’s world felt like a birthing black hole in your own.

The night before Sukuna was flying off on his first world tour, the two of you were cooped up in your dorm room, snuggled underneath the blanket like you used to be when you were both kids. 

This time, it wasn’t awkward. 

You had both experienced love and lust in different ways up until that point. 

You knew that being this close didn’t have to mean anything risqué. 

You were comfortable with yourselves far more than you were five years ago.

“It’s going to be weird not seeing you all the time,” you whispered with a sniffle, while Sukuna traced the shell of your ear. 

Two silver chains mirrored one another, one on your neck and the other on his. It was your parting gift to him, a reminder to keep a piece of each other around when you couldn’t be together. 

You assumed Sukuna would find it stupid, but instead he clasped the necklace around himself before doing the same for you in silent contemplation. 

“I’ll keep in touch, brat” he soothed, but you could hear the ache in his voice too.

You circled your arms around his neck, eagerly clinging onto him as closely as you could for the little time you had. 

“I am really proud of you though,” you spoke, your shaky breath against his collar bone, a tear rolling down your cheek as you inhaled the herby scent of his soap. 

“I’m paying off your loans when the money really starts rolling in,” he chuckled against your temple. 

You shook your head with disapproval. “Just buy your grandpa something nice,” you insisted. “And make sure to spoil Yuji…” 

“That kid’s already spoiled…”

“But he’s a sweetheart,” you emphasized, “and I know he’s probably going to miss you more than me…” 

Sukuna hummed. “I wouldn’t be here without you.” 

You tilted your chin up as he dropped his head down, your noses merely inches apart. You relaxed the muscles on your face, your thumb reaching to smooth the crease from between his brows. 

“God knows what would have happened if you didn’t save my sorry ass back when we were kids…” he said with an easy smile. 

“You would have eventually fought back,” you giggled, “besides, you don’t need me protecting you anymore…” you pointed out, your voice a little breathless, and your anxious mind running on the concern of if you might even fit into Sukuna’s new life after this. 

He wrapped his arms around you, bringing you into the seam of his frame. 

“I always need you,” he confessed, and those words were enough to make you break as the pain of his departure finally collided into you. 

₊ ⊹ .

Sukuna went off to having an extremely successful boxing career. 

At twenty-two, he had turned into one of the hottest sports stars the industry has ever seen. 

He had win after his win under his belt, and the second he partnered with Uraume it was a match made in heaven. 

He was insanely good, and with Uraume by his side, he was now unstoppable. 

You were provided tickets to any of his fights, accompanied with private transportation and accommodation if necessary. Sukuna always made sure that you were well take care of, and you always accepted because it was the only time you were able to actually see him. Those few days were precious together, before you had to depart and return to the real world once again. Each of Sukuna’s fights was a mesmerizing experience. There was something about his flow in the ring that managed to make everything else around him blur. 

He was strong, but agile. 

Brutal but swift with his movements. 

He moved with regal precision, a dancer that understood the rhythms of strength. 

Everyone challenged him, but all of them failed. 

Ryomen Sukuna was a force to be reckoned with. 

Despite the distance, you and Sukuna always made a conscious effort at keeping in touch with each other. You may not be physically there in each other’s presence, but not a day went by without a phone call or multiple texts.

At twenty-seven, Sukuna was at the peak of his stardom. Your best friend found himself tangled between the world of fame and fortune, alongside his old life of normalcy and humble peace. He made good on his promises; setting up a trust fund to ensure that Yuji was well taken care of in every capacity. He paid off all your loans in secret because he knew you would never accept it from him upfront. He bought his grandfather a home in Osaka for him to retire to. And his peace offering to his mom was renovating their old, broken home into something new and vibrant for her to live her life happily now that she seemed to have finally settled down in her third marriage. Sukuna even offered to take care of his step brother, Choso. They may not have been personally close, but he was grateful that Choso was keeping a watchful eye on Yuji. 

Your own life was starting to unfurl as well - you had graduated university, were experiencing your first serious relationship, navigating various friendships and landing your first job. It all felt normal compared to Sukuna, but the man never minimized your experiences. 

When you were together, it’s like nothing had even changed, but the moment your realities bled into each other, it was a constant reminder of how just how far apart your lives actually were. 

You were harassed by the paparazzi who constantly overstepped. 

Sukuna’s boundaries were crossed by the people you knew because everyone wanted a moment with the star. 

You found yourself in environments with the rich whose beauty, wealth and status seemed far out of your reach. 

Sukuna found himself being treated more like an object than a person. 

And yet, you both seemed to be settling down into your own versions of the life you were creating - always weaving the other person in no matter the obstacle.

At twenty-eight, Sukuna had earned more money than he could even imagine, and was still somehow only moving onwards and up. He was plastered on every magazine cover, was the the center of attention on social media by his most dedicated and loyal fans. He was stalked and obsessed over, admired and feared. Networks wanted to feature him on shows, movies and every talk show. The man was a composition of everything that people were projecting onto him. 

He had become an untouchable to the eyes of every living mortal. 

But to you, and just you - he would always be the little boy who was far too small for this big world. 

After years of flings with influencers, models, and high end socialites - it seemed that Sukuna was finally settling down with one of the top actresses in the industry. The moment the two of them were caught kissing at a party, their secret was revealed to the public. 

You, however, knew all the details of the ways in which Sukuna was slowly wooing her. 

At this point you’ve both grown tolerant of hearing about the other person’s love life. And at this time especially, you weren’t affected by Sukuna’s first serious relationship because you and your boyfriend were discussing the possibility of marriage which felt close on the horizon.  You had just bought your first house, and was considering the big gesture of having him move in with you. You had gotten an incredible promotion at work, and for the first time you felt a sense of stability that you had never really experienced before. 

“We should have dinner together!” You offered one night to Sukuna over the phone. 

“The four of us?” He questioned. 

“Yeah, I mean…you know Sousuke really well…” 

“Yeah, and he hates me…” 

“But I haven’t met Mei yet…and no, Sousuke doesn’t “hate you”…”

“I hate to break it to you, Princess. But the guy can’t stand me…” 

You glanced towards your boyfriend who was sitting on the sofa, his attention on the television show he was watching. You stepped away from the living room, and quietly made your way to the bedroom. 

“’kuna…” you spoke, your throat catching, “I think…I think he might propose…” 

“What?!” He exclaimed and you had to pull the phone away. 

“Jeez! Don’t shout! You’re going to make me pop an ear drum!” 

He groaned. 

You sighed, “we’ve been talking about it…and I just…I just really want you guys to get along is all.  I just think you guys are just not seeing eye to eye…” 

Sukuna remained oddly quiet on the phone. 

“Can you say something?” You begged. 

“Fine,” he grumbled, “we can do dinner at my place. The paparazzi have been hounding me trying to get any shot they can find of me and Mei. I would rather we don't go anywhere public...” 

You smiled, “dinner is perfect!” 

At first glance, the dinner seemed like a complete success. 

The four of you chatted and enjoyed your night like you were all old friends, especially after Sousuke got over his starstruck moment when he met Mei. You and Sukuna told stories of your years together, inviting your partners to the pieces of your lives that you both shared. You could see that Sukuna was clearly attracted to Mei, and in turn he could see that you were happy with Sousuke. The night felt like a convergence without an implosion - an easy going settlement on the two roads that you and your friend had taken. 

That’s why when your boyfriend called things off with you three months later, it took you completely by surprise. 

Nothing in this world could have prepared you for that heartbreak. 

It was a grieving period, a dark time of mourning that had you glued to your bed most days. This life that you had been carefully piecing together toppled like dominos. After breaking the news to Sukuna, you spent two weeks isolating yourself from anything and everything else. 

Your best friend couldn’t stand seeing you in this state, and showed up at your door out of the blue one evening.

You burst into tears at the sight of him.

He was there to mend your broken heart, and he never left your side. He told his team that he was taking a much needed break, and during that time made sure that you were fed and comfortable. He handled any extra chores, slept on the floor in your bedroom every night so that you weren’t alone. He spent hours with you in silence while you wept, listened to you angrily vent your frustrations on how your ex could treat you this way. 

One night, he woke up and realized that you weren’t in bed. He searched for you, finding you in the kitchen staring at a small pile of bridal magazines. 

Your clothes were rumpled, you hadn’t changed or freshened up since that morning. 

Sukuna didn’t say anything, just placed two hands on your shoulders and turn you away from the painful memories. 

You gasped and hiccuped into his chest. 

“I couldn’t sleep…” you explained, “I r-remembered that I still had these, and just…just wanted them gone…” 

Sukuna tenderly stroked the back of your neck. “You know,” he said, his voice deeper than the ocean itself, the tone the texture of velvet. “I can always break his fucking legs…” 

The comment made you choke out a laugh. 

“It’ll ruin your career,” you whimpered. “It’s not worth it…” 

“For you,” he soothed, his thumb lightly tracing the space where the base of your neck and spine connected. “It’s always worth it” 

₊ ⊹ .

The blunder in Sukuna’s career hit early last year, when his relationship with Mei fell apart and resulted in one of the worst break ups that people have ever seen. Mei released a public, viral video that had millions of views and thousands of shares. She accused Sukuna of cheating for the entirety of their two year relationship, crying crocodile tears on camera over how she was simply another trophy that he could successfully claim while his heart always belonged to someone else. 

That video made your blood boil. 

You knew Sukuna wasn’t perfect - but if there was one thing you would never doubt about that man it was his loyalty. 

You saw it towards grandfather, to Yuji, to Uraume, and even yourself. 

That man scoffed at the prospect of cheating, believing it to be a cowardice act. 

And Sukuna was no coward. 

Even in prior relationships, he was always clear about where he stood. If he couldn’t commit to something, he made it perfectly known. You still didn’t know what it was about Mei that had him finally let his walls down. But when they were together, he looked perfectly content. Every desire and every fantasy he dreamt up in his youth had finally been accomplished. But all you knew about their break up was that things weren’t working out, and Sukuna wasn’t willing to share more than that. 

You were being respectful of his privacy, understanding firsthand how tough this kind of heartbreak can be. 

He called you when the Mei's video first broke out, his voice strained. 

“You know it’s not true, right?” He questioned before even saying hello. 

“Ryo, of course I know that-” 

“I’m not a little bitch who would cheat. I would never do that. Nor am I that fucking stupid thinking I would ever get away with it-”

“I know…” you reassured, hearing the apprehension laced through his words. “Ryomen, I know you. I know you better than anyone else in this world.”

He breathed a long sigh of relief. “I was just wondering if you might have been convinced otherwise”  

Your stomach tightened. 

“But if you believe me, then I don’t give a fuck about anyone else.” 

Something about that conversation clung onto you, it sat like a weight on your shoulders that you couldn’t quite possibly shrug off. The tabloids, news outlets and social media accounts were throwing ingredients upon ingredients into the rumor pot that was bubbling and boiling over. On top of that, a new rising star had just entered the boxing world, and Sukuna was suddenly dealing with brutal comparisons to the younger, hotter talent that was Satoru Gojo. 

You were the one who offered to take him out to dinner to get his mind off of things, not realizing just how bad it actually was for him. 

When a gossip magazine posted the photos of you both huddled together (as you have done many times before) while having an ordinary dinner, it spun your world inside and out. Though the pictures were quite blurry, there were a few people who were able to recognize you. You were being harassed at your work, interrogated by your friends and were even being accused of being “the other woman”.

The worst part is was when Mei fed into the chaos, making a follow up post and stating that “a woman always knows, and is always right” in regards to her break up situation with Sukuna.

She may not have explicitly said it, but her fingers were pointing at you.  

You don’t know how your address got leaked, but when you started finding paparazzi stalking you in your own home it became far too much for you to handle. 

Sukuna, on the other hand, was infuriated. 

This whole time he was disengaged by what was going on, but once you were caught in the mix of this mess, it seemed that he was suddenly ready to cause equal destruction. 

He sued his ex for defamation, sued multiple media outlets for harassment. He had Higuruma Hiromi, one of the top lawyers in his field, at the helm of this take down, and the second he shot back, it had everyone scurrying in retreat. 

The tabloids, blogs and magazines all redacted the photos of you, reducing your digital footprint. 

His ex, under pressure of Sukuna’s threats, came out with a public apology so that he would drop the charges against her and help her avoid her own PR nightmare. 

The rest of Sukuna’s anger was taken out on the ring, with people seeing another side of what The King could unleash. 

His match against Hajime Kashimo was one of the bloodiest in boxing history, his opponent left crimson and defeated despite seemingly holding a strong front in the beginning. 

They dubbed him: “The Monster of The Ring” after that. 

The damage was already done, and the stress of it all was starting to hurt Sukuna’s focus. When he nearly got disqualified in a match, that is when Uraume intervened, and felt it was necessary to include you in the discussion. 

You’ve always had a complicated relationship with Uraume. They respected you, but you know it’s only because of your mutual relationship with Sukuna. Uraume, however, has made snide remarks  towards you when you were both alone - about how you were merely a distraction when dangled in front of his champion’s eyes.

“I think some time apart would do you both good,” they said. “They are never going to stop hounding you because they think there is something more going on, and besides…we can’t have Sukuna fucking up with Gojo now in the mix. We need to show the world that he’s still as strong and as relevant as ever…” 

“It’ll die down,” Sukuna stated with frustration. 

The both of them bickered over it. It was the first time you have ever witnessed them in a heated exchanged. Your heart started to hurt because you were aware how all of this was only making your best friend see in shades of red. 

He wasn’t himself. 

He wasn’t thinking clearly. 

This was impacting him.  

You getting involved in this was impacting him. 

“Ryomen,” you said seriously, placing your hand over his. “I think Uraume is right…” 

The man turned to you, his fingers lacing between your own subconsciously as he squeezed it tightly in disbelief. 

It was the first time you’ve ever seen him hurt. 

“It’s just a short time apart,” you said with a comforting smile, “once everyone gets bored we can resume our lives in peace. But right now, I can see this taking a toll on you…” 

He furrowed the front of his brows. 

“Uraume is looking out for you, and I think what they are saying makes sense. Don’t you?” 

“No, I fucking don’t…” he snapped, his eyes glaring at his manager who remained stoic as ever. 

“Don’t let your emotions get the better of you,” they remarked, “I know a part of you agrees with what I have to say.” 

“You’re not in the right state of mind, and you need to be” 

“It’s for your own good,” Uraume insisted. "You are gambling with your career. With your legacy"

The decision was mutual but entirely heartbreaking all the same. Sukuna drew the circus away, and it broke you when you realized that in order to protect you, he had to sacrifice something in return. 

The comfort of your friendship, the sanctuary of your company.

It was the price of fame, and one that he was willing to keep paying. 

As a result of this tough decision, Sukuna had grown cold. Not because he was being mean or cruel, but because he thought he was offering you some peace of mind. Because he thought that by withdrawing from you, it would make the pain of the separation easier. He wanted this distance to be a clean break for the both of you, and while he honored keeping in touch, it was just at the bare minimum because his calls and texts were few and far between. 

The most you saw of him was on a screen, and you could see that Sukuna was miserable. 

He was turning into something vicious in the ring, a violent machine that people glorified. He wasn’t moving with the fluidity of an artist that you used to admire when you first started watching him fight. There was a sense of brutality that was now a part of his make up. 

Sukuna was no longer a man, he was a beast. 

His persona was dwindling into only intimidation. Every interview, every guest appearance, and every social occasion was met with detachments or disinterest. He was growing snarky and irritable, no longer willing to charm the people around him. 

Satoru Gojo was the first to shoot at Sukuna with his words, dredging up his painful break up and even dragging you back into the fold with his commentary. The two of them grew to have a very intense rivalry. They exchanged heated arguments on social media, smack talked the other person in live interviews and had tense interactions in public. 

The press and the people were eating up every single second of it.

On the eve of his thirty-first birthday, you received a call from Uraume. 

“We are back in the city,” they said, “Sukuna needs to start training up for his match against Satoru Gojo.” 

You swallowed the uncomfortable lump in your throat. 

“Why didn’t he tell me he was back?” You asked softly. 

Uraume sighed, “I don’t have to tell you that he’s been in a fowl mood. The agency is throwing a huge birthday party for him tonight which he is refusing to attend…” 

“So, why are you calling me?” 

“Because…” Uraume sighed, “he’s about to fly to close to the sun, and I can see he needs an anchor to bring him down to Earth a little bit…” 

Your cheeks burned at the statement. “Are you saying I am his anchor?” 

“I am saying it’s been almost a year since he last saw you…” Uraume explained, “And I don’t want him feeling awful on his birthday. I care about him too, you know?” 

You nodded your head, “No, of course. I know that.” 

“I told him that I would stop by to pick him up for the party, but I think giving him a nice surprise might do him so good. Remind the guy to enjoy himself a little…” 

“You’re sweet,” you said with a smile. 

“As are you, my dear,” Uraume replied tenderly. 

“My, my, are you actually giving me a compliment?” 

“Don’t let it get to your head,” they remarked playfully, and you felt a hint of ease realizing that things might not be as cold between you both as you thought. 

That Uraume was really only ever considering Sukuna's well being first, just like you.

₊ ⊹ .

Uraume made sure that you got to Sukuna’s place in one piece and without anyone knowing that you were even there. You clasped your best friend's present between your fingers, your exposed body shivering from the cold air as you rode the elevator up to his penthouse apartment.

It felt right to dress up; you wore a white mini dress with a mesh overlay that had little embroidered detailing on the fabric. There were cut outs in the back, with an adjustable strap from behind cinching the bodice perfectly to your shape. Your kitten heels clicked against the floor, the nerves suddenly tingling their way up your legs as you thought about what Sukuna’s reaction might even be. 

This year felt like a century in the timeline of your friendship. 

You knocked on his door gently, tucking your bottom lip between your teeth. 

You could hear the trudge of footsteps from behind the frame, Sukuna’s voice bellowing as he spoke. 

“Uraume, for the last fucking time, I told you I am not going, and if you force it I will fire you on the spot-” 

He swung the door open and froze. 

“Surprise!” You squeaked lightly, awkwardly lifting the gift in your hands. “I got you a present!” 

Sukuna blinked once and then twice, his lips parting as if he’s seen a ghost. 

“Uraume asked me to come,” you explained. “They told me that you guys were back…” 

He stood there dumbfounded, for once rendered completely speechless. 

You cleared your throat, feeling a warmth rippling over your skin as the man gave you a once over. His eyes flickered down your body, hovering over all the parts of your exposed skin. Your bare thighs, your décolletage, and up the nape of your neck. 

“T-they wanted you to have fun on your birthday,” you added on with an apprehensive grin, “they actually suggested maybe a quiet night in and thought you might just want to spend it with an old friend instead of a bunch of people you probably don’t even like…” 

Sukuna’s eyes narrowed, his mouth pressing into a firm line. 

He looked…upset. 

Was he not happy to see you? 

“Uhm,” you mumbled, your fingers toying with the ribbon at the odd dismissal and lack of enthusiasm, “I-I don’t have to stay, but I did just want to wish you a happy birthday…” 

You took a small step forward, holding the present up as an offering. “Happy birthday, ‘Kuna…” you said with a quiet warble in your voice and feeling like a complete idiot for showing up. The disappointment of his response sat heavily on your chest.

He lifted his hand, gripping the present as he plucked it out of your grasp. You cleared your throat, anxiously scratching the back of your ear as you lifted up the strap of your dress which fell on your right shoulder. 

“I’ll just…” you added on in defeat, gesturing behind you to indicate that you were leaving. 

You didn’t even notice his arm sling behind your waist when your eyes fell downcast. 

Suddenly you were pulled over the threshold, the door closing behind you in a bang before your back was pressed up against the wooden frame. Your gaze lifted up to Sukuna, your pupils widening when you you were met with his menacing stare. 

“You know,” you said with a gulp, hoping to the ease the tension as you tried to catch your breath. “You really do look like a dragon when you scowl like that…” 

“Are you stupid?” He spat with irritation. “What if someone saw you come over? We just got the press off our backs…” 

Your pulse hit the base of your throat. “Uraume ensured that no one was around…” 

“I thought we agreed to take time apart…” he argued, ignoring your words. “You agreed.” 

“You’re mad...” You pointed out, the tip of your nose wincing as you pursed your lips. 

“I’m not mad, I’m furious…” he said with irritation. “I’m trying to keep you out of this fucking chaos and you just waltz in, in this sorry excuse of a dress, like everything is perfectly fine?!” 

You looked down at your outfit, and folded your arms over your chest. 

“I…” you spoke, your voice trailing off as your shoulders slumped. 

You didn’t even know if you should apologize. You didn’t do anything wrong and this wasn’t even your idea to begin with. You’ve also never seen Sukuna speak to you this way before, and your confidence bubbled when you recognized that this...wasn’t him. 

You straightened your back, tilting your chin up to face him with defiance. 

You’re the only person in the world who willingly challenges him. 

You don’t even have to raise a fist to watch him break. 

He was pushing you away, the same way he did when you found him on the ground of that kindergarten because that’s what Sukuna does when he’s hurting the most. 

“God, you’re just as miserable as look…” you pointed out with a quirk of your brow. 

His jaw twitched. 

“I don’t give a shit who catches me here,” you boldly claimed, “I miss my best friend…” you added before shoving his shoulder, “and you, you asshole, have no excuse for not telling me that you are back home. Just because I agreed to us spending some time apart, that doesn’t mean you get to just...cut me off like that. To not call me, to barely answer my texts, and to just push me away like I don’t matter to you…” 

Sukuna winced, taking a step closer to seal the gap of space between you both. He brought his head lower, dipping his forehead to press against your own. Your spine seized in that moment, your lips parting feeling the heat of his breath on your skin. 

You were expecting a rebuttal, but this…this wasn’t what you thought would happen. 

“You are a pain in my ass…” he whispered, closing his eyes as he circled his free arm around your waist, “and the only thing that matters to me…” 

He nudged his face closer, so close you swore to yourself that he might kiss you, before tracking his lips along your jaw and cradling his forehead in the crook of your neck instead. 

Your right hand moved him to touch his shoulder, your face contorting with a hint of concern. 

You felt it then, something wet on your skin where his forehead lay, and you took in a sharp breath as Sukuna tightened his arm around your waist. 

“You shouldn’t have come…” he took a deep inhale against your neck, smelling your skin before clearing his throat from any shakiness. 

“You said that already…” you grumbled unamused. 

“Stubborn woman, you never listen...” he breathed in once more, “God, I fucking missed you.” 

₊ ⊹ .

Sukuna opened his present once everything was settled, and once he finally embraced the reunion without questioning any other factors. He laughed at your little DIY stress kit that you put together for him. You both ordered in pizza, sitting on opposite sides of the sofa with the open cardboard box between you. You talked, and talked, and talked into the late hours of the night.  Until there were only crumbs on the bottom of the box which Sukuna placed on the coffee table. The bottle of champagne that you have both been nursing was nearly empty. 

Drunk on each other, with a belly full of food and simplistic joy settling in. Sukuna leaned against the arm rest, sprawling his long legs and patting his thigh sweetly. 

“C’mere…” 

Your heart hammered, and you bit the rim of your champagne glass before obliging. 

You stood up, swaying a little and watching his hungry eyes blatantly check you out as you sat on his lap. Sukuna adjusted his position, before dropping his palm on your thigh, his touch stroking up and down your skin. 

“What’s going on with you?” You inquired, placing your elbow on his shoulder as you rested your warm cheek against your palm. 

You were looking at him with concern, noticing his face sink. 

He rubbed one hand over the exhausted expression, an intoxicated blush painting his cheeks. 

“The press are worse than ever. After Mei, it’s been…relentless. The stories they are coming up with, the things that they are saying about me. I went from being on top of the world to being the guy everyone loves to fucking hate. And with every fight I go into, people are just waiting for me to wash up. The cherry on top of this whole fucking thing is Satoru Gojo, who won’t stop running his fucking mouth. I want cut the little shit in half…” 

You smiled, not to be condescending, but out of gratitude that you both easily slipped back into the shell of your own comfort. “Ryomen, he’s twenty-one years old. Do you not remember how you were at that age?” 

He rolled his eyes. “I had more class than he did…” 

“But you were aggressive,” you reminded, “You weren’t afraid to tear down the legends that predated you.” 

“So, what are you saying?” 

“I’m saying that maybe Satoru drew inspiration from somewhere…” 

You placed the champagne glass on his chest, your fingers holding the stem as you swirled the liquid around gently. The silence hung in the air because Sukuna knew you were right, but there were other lingering questions pressing you at the same time. And thanks to the alcohol, you had all the courage you needed to ask.

“What happened with Mei?” You wondered, shifting your gaze to meet his. 

Sukuna’s index finger tapped up and down your thigh in contemplation. 

He closed his eyes and shook his head before swallowing the lump in his throat. “Nothing.” 

You quirked your brow again, taking a swig of your champagne. 

Sukuna used his free hands to wrap around your own, and he pulled the glass away from you to take a sip himself. 

“Why won’t you tell me?” 

He chugged the rest of your drink, and placed it on the ground beside him. 

“Ryomen…” 

“Don’t push me, brat…” 

“But why not?” You wondered, “I just…it just seemed like you both were so happy and then all of a sudden…” 

He dropped his head back against the arm rest and stared up at the ceiling. From underneath his black shirt you saw the silver chain poking through. 

Your heart tightened. 

You drew one hand on the locket, your finger curling underneath as your thumb tracked over the texture of the necklace. 

“You’re still wearing it…” you mumbled. 

Sukuna faced you. “I never take it off. Only when I have to get in the ring…” His eyes shifted to your exposed, naked neck, and you mindlessly reached for the silver chain that you were currently not wearing. 

“I don’t wear it on certain occasions…” you explained guiltily, “only because I am afraid that I might lose it.” 

“Plus, it wouldn’t go with this dress...” Sukuna nonchalantly added on and you laughed at his comment. 

He sighed in defeat. “The necklace was a small reason,” he opened up. “Mei hated that I wore it all the time. She would badger me about taking it off. The time I spent with you after Sousuke didn’t help…” he added, treading the delicate topic with as much sensitivity as he could, “she accused me for cheating. I told her she needed to back off because you and I had a history that predates her. I told her that if the roles were reversed, you would be there for me because you have always been there for me…” 

Your body froze. 

“She would pick fights with me over everything about you. Finally I had enough, and told her she needed to fucking trust me if this was going to work. But things never went back to the way they used to. It was always up and down with Mei. Finally, when she had enough, she told me that I had a choice to make. Either I cut you off for us to happily together. Or…she leaves…” 

You sat up, staring at him with wide eyes and shock.  

“I’m…” you gasped, “I’m the reason why you both broke up?” 

The guilt struck you harder than you expected, and you looked down at Sukuna’s torso shamefully as you recalled the state of yourself post-break up, thinking of all the moments where you might have potentially stolen precious time away from his former lover. 

“Ryomen, I am so…I am so sorry…” 

Two fingers brushed underneath your chin, and Sukuna lifted your head so you could see him. 

“I picked you,” he confessed, “I picked you.” 

“But-” 

“There is no “but”,” he said with a shake of his. “We’ve been in each other’s lives for over two decades. You are my person. You are my family. You…”, he sighed, “you didn’t deserve what happened afterwards...”

His hands trailed up until his digits caught the hem of your dress. 

“I’m keeping my distance to protect you..."

“But you loved her,” you gasped, “I saw it. I saw you both. I would’ve…I would’ve stepped aside. If I was causing any issues, I would’ve…respected your boundaries. I love you, Ryomen. I just want you to be happy, and if that means that I take a step back-” 

“I did love her,” Sukuna interjected, the heat of gaze flicking upward, the rims slightly red from the alcohol he consumed. “But I love you more…” 

He drew all the air out of your lungs with the slip of his tongue, making you perch yourself up so you were actually looking directly at him. His pupils were dilated, widening as if to give you access to the depths of his soul. In all your years you’ve known him, you don’t think the two of you ever actually exchanged those words. It was always veiled with “I care for you,”, “I adore you,” “You’re my person,” and “this is why we are best friends.” 

But love… 

That felt forbidden to say out loud, even though you both knew that the root of your friendship was only built on love, it shouldn't have come as such a shock to you for the confession to slip so naturally.

You gaze longingly into each other’s eyes, in a way that you haven’t since you were both sixteen years old. 

Wondering…

Considering…

“I don’t…” you said quietly, sitting upright as he shifted beneath you. 

You wound up straddling him, both your hands resting on his shoulders while his own continued to tease the hem of your dress. 

“I don’t know what to say…” you exhaled. 

Sukuna pinched the fabric between his thumb and index finger, allowing the silence to hang for a few minutes before switching the subject. 

“Did you dress up for me?” He joked, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his devilish mouth. He slid one hand underneath your dress, making you gasp as his touch moved dangerously high up your thigh. 

“Wanted to look cute,” you murmured, your words lacing tightly together as the champagne danced across your tongue. You felt a pulse radiate between your legs, and you unknowingly clenched much to Sukuna’s amusement.  

“Cute for me?” He coaxed. 

“Cute in general,” you remarked. 

His other hand sprawled across your back, and you knew he was testing his boundaries.

“Ryomen…” you warned, but it only made him break out into a full grin. His irises were drowning in lust and inebriation, and your own were falling in suit. 

The hand on your hip dragged up further, until his fingers brushed over the string of your underwear. You scratched your nails down his chest, feeling your back arch into his palm as you mindlessly rolled your hips.

His lips moved to your ear, that mellifluous voice dangerously close. “Let’s play a game…” 

He squeezed the fat of your hip, his weight lifting you up and the entire room spun as he pinned you underneath him when he switched your positions. He locked you against the plush sofa with his thighs, a throaty laugh coming through from your sudden squeak of surprise. 

“Let’s see you try to get out of this one, Princess...” He teased, his teeth nipping at the side of your throat. “Or you’ll end up being my dinner…” 

Your body vibrated from the sensation of his touch. You gripped his jaw firmly and pulled his face towards you, your brows furrowing at the proclamation of a challenge. 

“It’s not fair to go against a boxing champion,” you argued, your spine curving as Sukuna slipped his other thigh between your legs. 

He dropped his head to the base of your throat, his teeth catching the sensitive spot just above your collar bone, “don’t worry,” he soothed over the gentle bite, “I’ll play fair…”

“Don’t patronize me,” you grumbled through gritted teeth. 

“You’re fault for waltzing into the dragon’s lair…” he alerted, quoting the very same line he used to when you would both play this silly fantasy game together. 

But you’re not wielding plastic swords and entering into the enemies domain with a sense of courage. Now, it felt like playing with fire. Your skin was burning at the contact, at Sukuna’s weight over your throbbing body. When he nibbled on your neck again, your hand gripped onto the back of his head, tugging his hair a little roughly as you pulled him away. 

Sukuna purred. 

“You’ve never been able to beat me…” you teased, giving into the world of make believe just one more time but speaking the truth regarding this fact. “I’ve always been your biggest challenge…” 

“Watch me win tonight,” he pushed with confidence, reaching for your wrist and pinning it above your head. 

“And what are the rules here exactly?” You quipped, your tongue tingling and your body buzzing with excitement and curiosity. “Am I supposed to kill the dragon and win back my castle?” 

Sukuna laughed, his eyes darkening as he pressed his forehead to yours once more. 

“No need to draw any swords. Let’s play a game of submission…” he boldly claimed, and your attention flickered to find his brazen smile burning even brighter on his face. “First person to cum loses” 

“Are you making a move on me?” You light heartedly disputed. 

“Not at all,” Sukuna maintained, but you can tell from his tone that he’s veiling the truth.

There was something hard pressing up against you, and you had a feeling it was a nudge for some relief. 

“It’s the dress isn’t it?” you giggle.

“If you even call it a dress…” 

“Can’t handle a little skin?” 

“I don’t want to shock you by telling you got me half hard just showing up,” he confessed, something unfolding in your drunken stupor. 

“I can feel you…” you sighed, and the man hummed as he molded his body into you.

You felt him twitch, and it made your thighs tremble. 

“We had too much champagne,” you informed. 

“That we did” 

“We should probably stop…” you exhaled, your lashes fluttering when you felt his thigh flex against your cunt. 

“Do you want to?” Sukuna asks, his voice growing serious. His hand on your hip tugs at the string of your underwear, and he releases it with a snap as it pinches back against your skin. 

You licked your lips, your brain too fuzzy to contradict what your heart wanted. “You know I will never back down from a challenge with you…” 

“That's what I like about you,” Sukuna adoringly praises. 

“And we both know you’re going to lose, right?” 

Your throat shrinks, Sukuna’s hand gliding over your pubis to press the drenched spot against your underwear. 

“Don’t underestimate me, Princess,” he advices ominously, “we’ve never played a game like this before.” 

₊ ⊹ .

Clothes had to stay on - that was the rule you both agreed with. 

To keep things fair. 

To keep it…playful. 

Your nipples pebbled, poking hard against the fabric of your dress as Sukuna sucked on the skin of your neck. You knew for a fact that he was leaving a mark there, and all you could do was bite back as his mouth trailed down the column and over the slope of your breast. You whimpered when he tugged at your clothed nipple with with his teeth, making the muscles in your leg seize from the sudden contact. 

You had to do something, and so you reached your hand between your legs to lightly graze over his erection pressing against his sweats. 

Sukuna groaned, and you sniggered at the reaction. 

You lifted your head and neck, bringing your mouth to his own ear. 

“You know,” you seductively stated, your fingers outlining the length of his hard member. “The first time I ever touched myself was after watching you practice in the ring…” 

Sukuna cursed under his breath, your fingers squeezed around his length. You proceeded to stroke the heat of his member, striking hard for your first blow. “And I always do whenever I watch you fight. I get so hot and bothered seeing you in the ring. I even have a a specific vibrator I use…I named it after you…” 

“Fucking hell,” he hissed when you snuck your hand underneath his waistband, bringing your touch even closer as you palmed him over his boxers. 

“I’ve never told you that secret…” you declared, bringing your own teeth to his earlobe which you tugged mercilessly. 

Sukuna lost himself for a moment, making you think this was going to be an easy win. But you heard him steady his breathing, could his muscles flexing as if to tame his own body back from giving in.  

“I heard you once…” he stammered suddenly, closing his eyes as he recollected his memories. “Back when you were living in the dorm. I came over to drop off something, and you…ugh, fuck-…you were in the bathroom…moaning. I thought you were in pain at first, until I realized…” 

Your own cheeks burned at his confession, the surprise making you ease your grip. 

Sukuna grabbed your wrist then and pulled you away from his crotch. He placed it on your breast, and you absentmindedly pinched your nipple as he slid his hand between your legs. He lowered himself down, slithering underneath you and making your ears sting with vexation. He pushed your dress over your thighs, exposing your light colored underwear. The noticeable wet patch made his eyes glitter with satisfaction. 

“I would have jacked off on the spot, but I left. I was clearly intruding on a private matter, but that didn’t stop me from blowing a load the second I made it to my place,” he carries on, bringing his nose and pressing it against your slit. “So fucking sweet…” 

You tried to push his head away, and in response he dragged his tongue over the moist patch on your underwear. 

“Oh my god,” you moaned, your hips bucking from the sensation. 

“You’re the first person I think of when I touch myself,” he revealed, humming as his tongue lewdly licked over your underwear. 

Your whole lower belly tingled, your arousal only slicking the fabric. 

You needed to distract him from carrying on, but Sukuna hooked two fingers underneath your underwear and tugged them to the side. 

You sat up on your forearms, pressing your thighs against his cheeks to stop him from diving in. 

“Don’t cheat,” you sternly addressed, but Sukuna only scoffed vindictively. 

“You’re still wearing them, Princess…” he pointed out, and the loophole made your core pulse with anticipation. “This isn’t cheating…” 

With your panties tugged aside, Sukuna used two fingers to spread the lips apart. 

He was staring at your pussy, studying it like it was the first one he’s ever looked at. 

You wanted to say something, to ask what he was doing. But to your surprise he just placed a gentle kiss on your clit before murmuring sweetly into your sex. “You’re beautiful,” Sukuna complimented, as if expressing a blessing before a meal then finally dragging his wet tongue up along the slit of your exposed pussy. 

“You’re ch-cheating…” was all you could think of blubbering out in the haze of lust, feeling the vibration of his laugh as he slung one of your legs over his shoulder. 

It hits you then - the fact that this man indulges in going down on women. Though he never explicitly shared all the lewd details with his past partners, he did mention how it was “his favorite thing to do”. After all these years, you finally get to experience it for yourself. Feel how he latches onto your pussy as your arousal drips like he’s pouring honey out of the jar and slurping the sticky, creamy essence. You whine when he prods his tongue between your folds, expertly sliding the muscle as he rolls it in gentle waves to stir a budding orgasm. Your fingers intertwine around his locks, reading to yank him off until he slurps and sucks in just the right spot that has you simply massaging his scalp instead. 

“…’kuna~…” you mewl, your nails dragging over his scalp. 

The man circles his mouth over your tender clit, sucking on the bud before pressing another kiss on the nub. 

Your pussy throbs when he pulls away, but you were proud for holding back. 

It was your opportunity to distract him, and you shrugged off one of your straps to pull down your dress to expose your left breast. Sukuna’s attention flickered upward, watching you tweak at the hard nub as you gave him a shy grin. 

“The felt really good,” you breathily whined. 

He began crawling his way back up, and you used this opportunity to lift your body upright. He was distracted, wasn't even thinking about you finding a way out of this position. His lips instantly latched onto your nipple, his hands gripping the fat of your ass as he sucked on the point feverishly. 

You licked your lips, doing everything in your power not to fall back into the black hole of his gripping dominance.

When he released you, you instantly pushed his back against the couch and climbed on top of him so you were safely straddling him again. You forcefully dragged your wet cunt over his erection, leaving a little trail of you to stain the fabric of his pants. Sukuna grunted with pleasure, bucking his hips as you ground yours. 

“You’re not as sharp with me,” you giggled, languidly gliding your cunt over his begging member. 

“Because you’re fucking distracting,” Sukuna grieves, his hands clenching into tight balls by his side as he refuses to grab onto your ass and push for more friction. 

You felt him sink, using his shoulders as leverage to keep you perched in just the right position so your pussy was rubbing over his cock. You bit back a sound of pleasure from leaving you, and instead exhale softly as you continue rocking back and forth. 

“You’re big everywhere aren’t you,” you tantalized, noting the way his jaw tense as a rumble erupted from his chest in a deep groan which morphed into a slightly sinister laugh. 

“Let me show you.” 

He lifted his hips, making you pause at the sudden awkward shift. He pushed his sweat pants down just to meet the end of his boxers. The removal of the first layer was a small relief, but your eyes widened as he settled back down. His erection was tenting, pressing up against the thin black material and making you see a clear distinction of his balls and thick shaft. 

“Go on then,” he tempted. 

Your could feel yourself getting wet. The tightness in your belly only contracting further. 

You stared him down, knowing full well that he was manipulating you at that very moment. 

“Why stop there?” You rebutted. 

You helped pulled out the weight of his heavy cock from the restraint, watching his length smack against his lower belly as the tip dribbled with cum. Sukuna moaned when your thumb pressed against the slit, your touch dragging back and forth as you aligned yourself. 

The sounds of your panting breaths were far too loud in this quiet room. You hesitated for a minute before lowering yourself, pressing the fat tip at your entrance. You gulped down air from the stretch alone, your arousal enough lubricant for your take him. You sank, your attention on Sukuna’s whose eyes were honed in on the point of contact of your sexes. 

When your pelvis finally kiss his own, when your bodies were merged into one, you felt two hands seek your waist as you trembled in his arms. 

Your dress had fallen back over, covering him buried inside you. You were looking up at him now as his chest rose to press yours.

A puzzle piece finally connecting. 

He twitched inside you, and you clenched around his length, but neither of you moved. You forgot, for a moment, that this was just a game. That the two of you were probably going to wake up tomorrow morning not being able to face the other person. Your heart was racing, your body begging for movement but you couldn’t snap yourself out of the bold decision you already made. 

Sukuna was looking deep into our eyes, the sparkle behind his own irises making you think of embers on winter night. 

His hands slipped up your waist, over the curves of your breast and up on the length of your neck. He held your head between his palms, the tips of his thumbs lightly caressing your cheeks, with his fingers to the back of your neck. He tilted his head down slightly, his nose brushing against the bridge of yours and he did something that caught you entirely off guard. 

His lips were warm on yours, the kiss the softest gesture you’ve ever experienced from him. He held a firm kiss at first, long enough until you were crumbling apart. You parted your mouth, granting him entrance and he swiped his tongue to lick the inside. He was tracing your own, his wet and wanting mouth only growing more hungry as you eagerly accepted his kiss. Your heart hammered heavily in your chest, and goosebumps peaked all over your skin when you felt his thumbs gently caress the soft skin of your cheeks. 

You’ve never been kissed like this before. Never felt bursts of light erupt from behind your eyelids or your stomach explode with fireworks. This always just fun foreplay for you, but nothing that would make you quiver in heat. You almost came on the spot from this one little act that you’ve imagined since you were sixteen, the one which you thought would never occur because of an unspoken rule on boundaries. But it was finally happening, and it was far too magical for you to even comprehend. 

He swallowed your moan, tasted how sweet your desire actually was. The kiss was getting heated, your walls tightening around his cock His lips wrapped around your tongue. He sucked on it, before sliding his own back over yours. 

You felt so weak; were reminded that you truly were just a fragile thing in his arms and nothing more. 

He pulled away, a string of saliva sticking from his lips to yours but you shook your head as you circled your hands around his wrists. 

“More,” you cried desperately without thinking. 

Sukuna smiled against your mouth and obliged. 

You don’t know how long you both sat there making out. But every time he tried to pull you away you sighed “again,”, or moaned “don’t stop”. You didn’t even consider kissing to be an option on the table, but the more you were getting turned on the further your guard went down. Your hips started to bounce lightly, your pussy so bothered that it wanted some relief. You started fucking yourself over his length, your mouth battling with lips, teeth and tongue in a very heated stand off. Sukuna relaxed his body against the sofa, noticing you melt over him like you were wax. Your hips were moving up and down, your tongue languidly rolling around his mouth. You could feel Sukuna moving with you, bucking his hips in return. His jerks were growing sharper, his hands dropping back down to your hips to keep you in place. Your foreheads were touching, lips parting, panting heavily as you climbed and higher. The two of you were lost in the moment, forgetting everything else that led up to this. 

You were going to lose this one, you thought, and you didn’t even care. 

Your head was spinning, your heart bursting, and you reached to hold his jaw in your hand out of desperation, hoping that by clinging to him it meant that you wouldn’t disappear into the haze of it all. Entirely overwhelmed by the feeling, by this particular connection, your eyes started to water, with tears falling as your nose grew stuffy. 

“Ryomen~” you begged, your dulcet voice full of affection. The tip of his cock hit your sweetest spot and at that point you knew you were done for. 

But Sukuna jerked his hips, the groan that ripped out of him made your belly spasm. He pulled out fast, shooting his cum all over you. Your orgasm collapsed into you just seconds after, and the two of you were shaking against one another as you tried to reorient yourselves to the present. 

You were a mess, and so was he. 

Two hands found your thighs as your torso collided into his. You placed one hand on the base of his neck, and rested your cheek against the crook.  

“You lost,” you joked with a sniffle, because you were unsure what to say, and because you realized you had just fucked your best friend and had no idea what that meant. 

Sukuna just grinned, flashing you a knowing smile and a devilish smirk. 

He perched your chin under his fingers, tapping the end sweetly. 

“Doesn’t feel like I did,” he breathed, and your eyes glittered once more. 

You arched up to kiss his cheek, “I didn’t know a dragon could kiss this well…” 

Sukuna chuckled, bumping the tip of his nose to yours affectionately as he tilted his head down. “I’ve had time to practice.” 

You sighed into another kiss, “What did we do, Ryomen?” 

“Something we should have done a long time ago…” he responded in between. 

“You love me…” you breathed. 

“And you’re surprised?” He interrupted with another kiss. 

“I don’t know what that means…” 

He nipped at your bottom lip. “It means what it means. I love you. Fuck, enough that I nearly fucking came inside you without thinking. You haven’t been around and I feel like I've lost my goddamn mind in just a year…” 

Your nails dragged down his chest your heart leaping its way up your throat. 

“I love you too,” you revealed. “I love you, Ryomen. And I missed you too."

You both fell asleep on the sofa, waking up the next morning and replaying the events of your drunken stupor. After you both cleaned up and showered, you had a serious conversation over two cups of coffee. Though, you aren’t quite sure how "serious" it was, considering that Sukuna had you sitting on his lip while you were gently stroking his hair.

He revealed that the reason why he didn’t tell you about his return was also partially due to the fact that he was leaving that very night to hop on plane and fly halfway across the world. He couldn't bring himself to see you for only a short stint when he knew he needed far more time together after everything.

“Uraume is right,” he bitterly admitted, “You are a big distraction for me right now, and I have to be in the right headspace for this fight with Gojo” 

“You sound worried,” you pointed out with a furrow of your brows, your hands dragging back his locks as you threaded your digits between the strands to push his hair back from his forehead.

“If he beats me then I am done,” Sukuna blurted, “what I have built will diminish into nothing. I can’t lose to him. It’ll cost me my career…” 

Disappointment wrapped its arms around you just as Sukuna loosened his own grip. But you could hear the hint of tiny, tiny fear behind his words was enough to you feel hollow. Sukuna has never felt threatened, but this was a serious fight for him. He’s worked so hard for all of this, and he was not willing to give it up to some punk who just shot into the scene. 

“Why don’t we revisit this after the fight then?” You offered.

He glanced at you.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean..." you exhaled, "what if maybe we just need to wait a little longer before we allow ourselves to have this..."

Sukuna paused for a moment. “You’d wait for me?” He asked. 

A smile ticks at the corner of your mouth. “Yes, because you always come back to me” 

“That I do” he responds

You brush your fingers under his chin, tilting it upward once more to receive another kiss. “I’ll wait for you,” you ensure. "Because I'll always come back to you too."

₊ ⊹ .

One hand slides into the front pocket of your denim skirt, and Sukuna rests his chin on top of your head. You smile to yourself, though he can’t see it, because he’s busy watching you slice bits of fruit as you place it into one of his ceramic bowls. When you were kids, Sukuna would have to look around your arm whenever he hugged you from behind. The years show the evolution of this gesture, from him suddenly perching over your shoulder until he could simply see over your crown. 

He sighs, his other arm curling over your belly as he embraces you. 

“Don’t add the blueberries,” he mumbles. 

You oblige, your back leaning into the breadth of his chest. 

The two of you haven’t touched one another since that faithful night. 

Up until the fight, you and Sukuna simply returned back to the way things used to be. Except this time there were little alterations in your day to day conversations that indicated a shift. 

For one, Sukuna was a flirt. 

You were use to this commentary, but now that your friendship has taken a turn you find your cheeks growing heated more often around him because his words weren't gray. What he says toward you, and the way he compliments you rings very, very true.  There is also a deep tenderness for one another that you both are finally allowing to express freely. You don't dull your affection, and instead allow it to overflow. And last of all, the longing to be back together was pathetically obvious. 

You placed the strawberries, sliced peaches and peeled oranges into the bowl, your fingers a little tacky. “I need to wash my hands,” you indicate, and Sukuna begrudgingly releases you from his hold. 

You’re surprised that he didn’t pounce on you so quickly. 

The two of you only had one other sexual moment just a few months ago. 

Sukuna video called you one evening, his face tight with frustration. 

He was exhausted from training, and even more drained by the press. 

They were claiming that his new “pumped physique” was due to steroid use, and one little rumor had the representatives of the boxing association hounding him like he was a real culprit in this make believe story. Suddenly, his hard work and training was being reduced to the thing that the press claimed him to be: a cheater.

He called you to ensure you that everything was alright. That he was forced to take tests which all came out negative (obviously) and and effectively proved his innocence. 

“I can’t wait to be home,” he breathed with annoyance. “I’m fucking sick of this shit…” 

You were in the bathroom getting ready for bed, gently patting your moisturizer onto your face. “I’m sorry you had to go through that,” you stated, offering him only an apology because it's all you could give. “Is there something I can do to make you feel better?” 

Sukuna arched his brow, his attention hovering in front of the screen. 

“Yeah, you can take off that robe you’re wearing…” he teased. 

You jerked your head to the camera in surprise, noting his cheeky tone. 

“Ha-ha…” you remarked. 

“I’m being serious,” he answered back, his mouth dropping into an instant frown. “I’ve had a shitty day, and I can’t even do the one thing I want to help me relax…” 

You arched your brow. “And what might that be?” 

He revealed his canines, a wolfish grin brightening that handsome face. “Fucking my girl...” 

Your heart thumped, and you swallowed the sudden tightness in your throat. You picked up your lip balm and dabbed your finger into the ointment before gliding it over your bottom lip. 

“Your girl, huh?” You reiterated casually, hoping that Sukuna wouldn’t quite pick up on the catch in your throat. 

“You’re always my girl, even when you weren’t mine to call that…” he added softly, his voice pulling your attention back towards him. 

He wasn’t kidding around, with the look on his face entirely serious. The tips of your ears stung with a heat that you couldn’t explain, and you just had the sudden urge to reach through the screen and pull his face back towards you. 

You wanted to kiss him, to tell him that you always felt like you belonged to him too. 

The two of you an inseparable pair for a reason. 

Instead, you stripped down to reveal your naked form. You perched the camera towards the back for a wider shot, and allowed your body to speak to Sukuna instead. One of your legs was resting on the bathroom sink, the other grounding you on the floor. You had the camera facing your cunt, with your fingers buried deep inside. But it was nothing compared to the stretch of Sukuna’s digits, wasn’t filling you enough to reach you to the pleasurable climax you desired. 

“It’s not enough,” you gasped in between breaths, watching Sukuna passionately jerk off from he other side of the screen, “Need you, ‘kuna~” you whined, “it’s not enough with you…” 

The memory hits you, making your lower belly tighten.

You dry your hands off to face him, only to find the man standing with an expression of guilt on his face. 

The same concern you had earlier when you left the elevator reappeared once more. 

You pick up the fruit bowl from the counter, trying your best not to give the discomfort attention. You offer Sukuna a strawberry, lifting it towards his mouth but he instantly circles his hand around your wrist and pulls it back down.

“I need to tell you something,” 

You scrunch your brows, and place the fruit bowl back onto the counter. 

“What’s wrong?”

Sukuna closes his eyes, a look of shame washing over him. 

You take a step closer, wrap both arms around his waist and rest your chin on his chest. 

“What’s wrong?” You repeat, coaxing him to speak. 

“I nearly threw the fight tonight.” 

You jerk your head up in shock, your lips parting as your jaw falls from the confession. 

“You…what?” 

Sukuna rubs his tired face with one hand, using every ounce of courage to look back at you. 

“There was a moment in the ring when Satoru threw a relatively decent punch,” he explains, “I had the lights knocked out of me for a split second. When I turned to face him it hit me then...that I could fake dodging his next attack before giving him the opening that he needs to win. One more hit and I’d...collapse. Let the referee do his count, and that would be it…”

You knew the exact moment he was referring to. It was the point in the match where your ears were ringing because you truly thought that you would be witnessing a loss on Sukuna's part. The entire crowd was muttering in shock, all of them on the precipice of a potential shift in legacy. 

“I didn’t follow through because I think Satoru noticed a change in my demeanor. It was only a few seconds, but the kid is fucking sharp. He wasn't smugly determined then, he was looking at me with...confusion. I couldn't do it then. I didn't want him to get a cop out on my end. So, I carried on the fight the way I would. After the match, I thought I could just let the moment pass but Uraume tried to bring it up later and I shut it down because I didn't want to admit it. Anyway, I needed to just get it off my chest…” 

“You were going to give him that win?” You expressed with deep concern, tightening your hold around his waist as you watched Sukuna’s face to turn hard. 

It hits you then - that the Champ, The Monster of The Ring, The Beast and King Himself was…burnt out. Sukuna’s fire had been gone for quite some time, you just thought it would reignite after tonight. 

But it didn't.

You bring your hands to his biceps and caress your palms up and down. 

“Ryomen,” you speak, licking your lips with hesitation before finally asking. “Is this what you still want?” 

Contemplative eyes meet yours as his palms find both your cheeks. He drops his head down, his lips seeking yours as he takes into account the gash on the muscle, then places a careful kiss on your mouth. 

“I just want you,” he hums. 

“M’right here,” you murmur back, “Not going anywhere.” 

“I’ve been waiting for this,” he adds on, “that’s all I could think about during the fight. Was just coming home to you, coming home to us…” 

A shiver runs down your back, but your body vibrates with an innocent excitement. “We don’t have to wait anymore,” you whisper. “I’m not going anywhere no matter what happens. No matter what comes next…” 

Sukuna looks at you then, knowing full well what your statement means. 

Once news breaks out of the two of you being an actual item, heaven knows what might happen. If the paparazzi have been plaguing Sukuna like a curse this whole time, it was only going to get even more complicated with you so intimately intertwined in his world. And now that he was back on top as the champion, he knew full well that all eyes were going to remain on him.

From when he was a child, no matter what he believed about his life that would deter you from him. His broken home wasn't enough to push you. His anger wasn't enough to push you. His detachment wasn't enough to push you. The chaos that is his world wasn't enough to push you.

You have always remained solidly by his side.

His constant. The only thing in the world that he can rely on.

“I love you,” he states under his breath, leaning in to peck you for a second time. 

“I love you too,” you repeated with a smile against his lips. 

There was no epic moment around this sober reveal, no exceptional circumstance other than the privacy of it being spoken with no one else to hear it other than the two of you.

You loved one another, in the deepest possible way you could love a person. From there your lips parted, and you carefully kissed the man before you as he scooped you up in his arms. 

He repeated the phrase again when he placed you on the kitchen counter, with his fingers buried deep within the folds of your wet pussy. 

You moaned it back to him after he carried you into his bedroom, with your fists tangled between his hair as he ate you out. 

He grunted it out one last time, with his hand gripping the headboard as he watched your body melt into the matters when he thrusted his dick in and out of you as he made love to you feverishly. 

And you mumbled it back one last time while he held you in his arms, the two of you falling asleep from a very long night of unbridled passion. 

Sukuna was the first to wake at the crack of dawn. He rolled over to grab  his phone from the side table in an attempt to turn off his alarm before it woke you up as well. As he looked at the device, his heart sank. 

A number of notifications were blowing up his phone and it was making him feel dizzy. 

News articles were already painting him in all his glory after his fight with Satoru, with his opponent looking battered in defeat. The press had finally flipped, and suddenly began to revere him the way he deserved to be. There were text messages from an influx of people, either congratulating him or wanting get his thoughts on the match. Sukuna feels the tremor in his hand build as he starts to scroll through the notifications. 

He places the device on the blanket in front of him, his eyes looking out to the large windows as he watches the sky shift from a deep violet to a lilac blue. He turns this head to gaze at you. This image of you by his side, in a position that he’s seen multiple times in his life, feels different now too. The soft glow of new daylight washes over your body, and the stillness of the hour has him believing that he actually made it to heaven. Sukuna places a soft kiss on your forehead, then carefully kicks off the blankets. He searches for his boxers, then pulls on the pair before stepping out into his balcony. 

He calls Uraume. 

Usually they pick up quick, but Sukuna counts down the rings until they do. 

“My King,” they tease, their voice a little groggy. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” 

Sukuna watches a bird fly across the horizon, the ease in his chest an affirmation to what he’s about to say. 

“I’m retiring,” he announces. “I’m done.” 

The silence hangs in the air, streaks of orange and yellow begin to tint the clouds. 

“I had a feeling you were going to say that…” 

“is that why it took you long to answer my call?” 

Uraume huffs out a laugh. “I guess I was hoping for another piece of news…” 

“Are you mad?” Sukuna asks, only honoring Uraume with his worry because he knows how much they have done for him to begin with. 

Uraume sighs, “I’m not actually. It’s the smartest decision you can make. You retire now and you basically leave the game while sitting at the top. You’ve earned that throne, and it won’t be easy for these rookies to take it from you so quickly…” 

Sukuna chuckles, “you’re right about that…” 

Uraume lets the quiet overtake the conversation. “I’ll give it a few days before I break the news to the press.” 

“And then what?” 

“There’s definitely going to be a lot of interviews, and a retirement party that you will have to attend wether you like it or not…” 

“And what about you?” 

Uraume hums, “You and I had a good run. If it’s the end for you, then I guess I can finally retire too..” 

Sukna furrows his brows, his nails scratch over the rail on his balcony. “I don’t want you doing that because of me…” 

Uraume laughs, “You’ve earned my loyalty, what can I say?” 

“Thank you,” Sukuna breathes, “For everything you’ve done for me. You’re more than just a manager, but I think you already know that...” 

“I know it,” Uraume answers back. “And I also know that this is the right decision because you sound…relieved.” 

He hears you then. 

You were calling out to him, “‘kuna, where are you?~” 

He turns his back to face the railing, missing the sun breaking through the horizon at the sound of your voice. He smiles thinking about the adorable, frustrated look on your face when you probably reached out and couldn’t find him, and he slowly begins making his approach back into his bedroom. 

“I am,” he speaks to Uraume, “I’ve got to go. Will talk about this later.” 

He hangs up the phone, and returns to the shadow of deep, restful slumber. He places the phone back on his side table, and smiles at the exact disappointed expression that he pictured when he was outside. 

The second you feel his warmth back in your presence, you snuggle up into his frame. 

“Where did you go?” You mumble with a yawn, and Sukuna wraps his strong arms around you as he nestles back into your body. 

“Nowhere,” he breathes, easing back into your embrace. 

“Heard you talking,” you add on, you eyes still shut but your arm slinking around his neck to keep him close.

It’s taken you both over two decades to get here, and he wasn’t going to allow anything to come in the way of that. “I’ll tell you about it later,” he reassures, keeping his loving eyes on you as he clutches onto his bright, new future with his favorite person.

A life that you both will now get to live in peaceful happiness. 

₊ ⊹ .

:note: hi, everyone! long form fics has been really draining for me these days but these one shots feel like a great refresher. I know this is a monster of a fic, but I hope you enjoy the story. comments and reblogs are appreciated!

tags (only tagging those who asked): @after-laughter-come-tears @not-9ok @axxk17 @sukubusss @lavenderdaydream97 @charlie-xo @kunasthiast @celestep004 @brownskinnedgirll @sukunasweetheart @kunascutie @joontroverted @emi311 @yuujispinkhair @starmapz @bellyei

[jellyfishoreo1206]

This is very self-indulgent after I just watched Pezzy playing Poppy Playtime Chapter 4. MY BOY DOEY DESERVED BETTER 😭😭😭

Platonic fluff! Sorry if this seems so short y'all

WARNING ⚠️: SLIGHT SPOILERS FOR THE NEW POPPY PLAYTIME CHAPTER

----

Every day that passed within the walls of this hell hole facility was filled with fear–everybody was on edge, with the smallest of sounds from the outer area of the Safe Haven sending terror throughout the toys, even you. You've seen what was out there, seen what awaits behind those gates–waiting...waiting for the chance that everybody's guard is down.

With a pained sigh, you push yourself up from the bedroll despite the ache that shoots throughout your chest–no use in sleeping when the growing hunger and dark memories are plaguing your thoughts. But what to do?

The Medic said you should rest, but no matter how many times you adjusted yourself or stayed still, sleep was nowhere to be found...and when you did sleep, the nightmares plagued every inch of your unconscious mind–fallen friends you could've saved, the Prototype finally getting into the Safe Haven, succumbing to the starvation...

Or worse, becoming so hungry you eat your friends.

...

No. That won't happen. Never will happen.

With a quick look outside the tent flaps, one thing you noticed was the dimmed lights–"nighttime" within the Safe Haven. Normally the other toys would be too anxious to go to sleep, but it seems like it was one of those rare days where everyone turned in for the night.

Though, one light seemed to have stayed on...the generator room's light, a stark contrast compared to the dim setting of the Safe Haven.

The only people who hanged out in the generator room were two people–Poppy, and Doey. With another quick scan of the Safe Haven, you spot Poppy and Kissy in their tent on the other side of the room, huddled close to one another. So that left one person left.

It's very usual for Doey to be in the generator room often anyway–anxiously checking if the generator had succumbed to anything bad. But never at this hour does he check.

...At least you hoped he didn't.

The amount of pressure Doey had been under for the last few days has left you more worried for him than ever. You tried to help shoulder the weight of all the responsibilities that weighed him down but he was stubborn–believing it being a burden that no one else should carry but him, the person who everyone looks up to.

Though the more responsibilities that pile up on his plate, the more he likely he'll drown in the stress and worrying of everyone's safety.

That's Doey for you, always worrying and caring for others before himself.

Well, might as well find out what he's up to.

Climbing out your tent, taking a quick moment to breath when the pain in your chest flared, you quietly made your way over to the lit room. At the doorway, you could hear the distinct mumbling of Doey and the sound of the generator door hinge softly closing shut. It seems he was checking on the generator, but why at this time?

"Doey?" He jumps at the sound of your voice, turning around in surprise to see who else was up at this time. He looks absolutely exhausted –you didn't even know the doughman could even have eyebags. Just how long has it been since he's last slept?

"Y/n! What are you doing up? You should be resting!" He frets in concern, fully turning away from the generator and towards you to check you over for any injuries. Always worrying for others, typical Doey. "Especially since that recent scouting mission of yours." He adds, doughy hands on his hips as he gave you a look of disappointment and anxiousness.

The mention of what you gained while scouting gave a dull pulse along the skin of your chest, but you ignored it in favor of what was happening now. You quirked an eyebrow at him, "You're worried about me? Doey, you of all people should be asleep right now." Hell, his eyes are barely open! They look like they are several seconds away from closing shut.

"I'm fine."

"We both know that's full of—"

"Language!"

"Sorry, sorry–it's just," You struggle to find the certain words to describe what you are trying to say, the both of you had this argument conversation several times before! And everytime he brushes it off as if his well-being doesn't matter, "-I just hate seeing you like this. I-I know you wanna make sure the others are okay and I understand that! But you're also ignoring your own needs!"

You gesture to his face, "Hell! When was the last time you got proper rest?" He opens his mouth to respond, but flatters, mulling over the question in his mind.

"I'm...not sure." He hesitantly responds, looking back towards the generator with slight confusion. How much time did he spend checking the generator?

"Then let's get you to bed, big guy." Placing a hand on his arm, you attempted to gently coax him out the room and into the direction of his unused tent, "Can't think if you're too tired to come up with a single coherent thought." You jest lightly.

Doey's face is unreadable–was he going to interject again? But he merely gave a heavy sigh, exhaustion clearly seen in his expression and body. "Maybe you're right.." Yes! Finally you got through to him and that thick doughy head of his!

"Let's get you to bed, big guy."

He merely mumbles, eyes slipping shut before rapidly blinking open, following your led as his foot steps fill the haven with the soft sound of thuds.

"Y/n?"

"Yeah?"

"..do you mind staying with me?"

"Don't mind at all, Doey."

"Thank you."

"Always happy to help, Doey."

[goquokka00]

SKZ vs Shark Week (Bangchan ver.)

How would each member of Stray Kids handle you while you're on your period?

BANGCHAN | MINHO | CHANGBIN | HYUNJIN JISUNG | FELIX | SEUNGMIN | JEONGIN

WARNING: This is a female reader going through their period. If the topic of a period/anything that has to do with a period makes you uncomfortable, then don't read it. Just remember that there's nothing wrong with a woman's period. It's a perfectly healthy body function :)

THE MOODS Bangchan never fails to notice how your mood always changes whenever you're a few days out from your period. He's an observant man of 7 children, he WILL notice when something is off with you. Specifically when you get more depressed than you usually are.

You don't eat as much, you bed rot more, you never feel like going out, and you constantly look like you're two seconds away from crying. You also wear the same clothes for a few days at a time, because you don't have it in you to change out of them. And so, Bangchan takes it upon himself to love up on you more.

The more depressed you get, the more cuddly he gets in return. He'll hold you, give you kisses, compliment you over and over, all to make sure that you're okay. If his princess is feeling down, then he'll do everything in his power to lift her spirits back up. And nothing...NOTHING will stop him.

THE BLOOD Simply put, your flow actually isn't that bad. Yeah, you bleed for a few days, but it's nothing horrible. The part that's horrible (more so for Bangchan than you) is that you don't wanna cuddle when you're bleeding. While it's not heavy and it's manageable, you don't want to potentially leak on him. It'd be beyond embarrassing.

But Bangchan? He gets pouty and mopey when you tell him that you aren't gonna sit on his lap while he works. He knows it's because you don't want to accidentally leak, but come on! So what if you get blood on him, he'll happily risk the cleanliness of his pants if it means he can have you on his lap. But he also respects your wishes. He respects it with a grain of salt, but...he respects it.

THE PAIN Through your period, you do end up getting a few cramps, but it's nothing horrible. They aren't as bad as some horror stories you've heard of, but they're bad enough to where you're never really comfortable. Sitting or standing or laying down in one position for too long gets to be seriously uncomfortable, and you have to change. The horrible thing is the tender breasts. They just feel so heavy and sore, it's horrible.

That's where Bangchan comes in. He knows that you go through this, and so he pretty much makes it his soul mission to take care of you however you need. You need pain killers? Done. You want him to rub your stomach? Say no more. You need the heated blanket for your chest. He's on it.

There are even times where he'll go out and get you some treats for being such a trooper for dealing with this week of uncomfortableness. And of course, each treat comes with a shower of kisses and "I love you's."

THE PRODUCT Not once has Bangchan ever complained about running to the store to get you pads or tampons or whatever you might need. Why would he? You going through your period means two things; you're healthy, and you're not pregnant. And right now, both are good things.

Also, he has a sister. So of course he's used to the products that came with periods. He doesn't cringe when he sees the used wrappers and wrapped waste for the week. He's used to it.

For you, he's buying the best of the best. The first time you asked him to get you some pads, he had asked an employee about which product was the best, and got you that. Along with a new heated pad, a big heated blanket you could both cuddle under, your favorite snacks and drinks, and chocolate. He isn't skimping for you. He knows that your period is your least favorite time of the month, so he'll do whatever he possibly can to spoil you so you don't suffer as much.

Anything for you.

Hey! Firstly, thank you so much for reading this post, and I really hope you enjoyed! If you did, please like, reblog, or comment so I can see how I'm doing with writing and getting feedback! I hope you have a lovely day! Sleep well, stay in good health, and eat something if you haven't! ❤️❤️❤️

Taglist: @miss-daisy04 @kayleefriedchicken @wolfs-archive @stayyyyyyyyyyyy21 @wolfs-howling @rose-w-00-d

[allypines]

crazy that the first thing either of us post about KoaC is a ship chart lmaoo

i'm so sorry fellswaps and swapfells but i needed room for the others

explanations (yapping) vv

first off, KoaC is predominately about a victorious!geno who enters the multiverse after erasing his timeline. The development of his relationship with Nightmare (among others) is the driving force behind the plot, and therefore it would be heavy spoilers to describe it now.

Nightmare is a badmare-leaning bitchmare, but is still only Nightmare. The human soul/essence was removed almost immediately.

Killer, Murder ("Dust"), Horror, and Cross are all under Nightmare's control. Needless to say, they hate him. They only kind of hate each other though. Killer's general nature and his position as Nightmare's favorite create a bit of distance between him and the others, but there's a trauma-bonded, coping mechanism, fucked up solidarity between them.

Despite never actually being together, Nightmare and Error act like toxic, bitter exes. Killer was the only subordinate around when Nightmare's arrogance blew up in his face, and he very, very quietly enjoyed the vengeance Error dealt to Nightmare. That's all I'll say about that for the time being lol.

Nightmare is terrified of Reaper and does all he can to avoid him. Reaper knows this and acknowledges that it's partly his own fault, but he also partly doesn't care. It isn't Reaper's job to pay attention to Nightmare, but Nightmare is familiar to him, which means that Reaper is at least a little bit fond of him. Whenever they do cross paths, Reaper makes sure to verbally poke him a bit.

Reaper and Error have a long history. Error's "job" tended to mess with Reaper's job, which then messed with Error's job. Basically, they saw each other a lot in the early days. Error found Reaper incredibly frustrating at the start, because he was unkillable, and he was taking the abominations Error was trying to erase, and he was always tALKING WHILE ERROR WAS TRYING TO FOCUS- yeah. Error loosened up over time, enough to even trade quips back and forth and compete a little. He grew a little dependent on the vague feeling of companionship between them, and Reaper was the one he went to when he wanted a way to die. Reaper, for his part, is fond of Error, but that fondness is tainted by guilt and sadness. Error is still the first Geno, and Reaper feels a bit of responsibility that he wasn't able to convince Geno to rest, thus leading to Error's painful existence. Errors cannot be "saved" by Reaper, so now all Reaper can offer him is friendly banter when they see each other.

Reaper knows Horror quite well. Because Horror was already "dead", he could see Reaper whenever he came to collect the humans Horror had killed in his AU. Reaper's reaction to Horror's situation was "yikes", which Horror found darkly funny (and even a little refreshing). They share a morbid sense of humor, and Horror genuinely enjoyed any distraction he could get from his reality. Their first meeting after Horror had been taken by Nightmare was an accident on Horror's part, but after that, whenever he needed a distraction and could get away with it, Horror would kill one random person on purpose for the chance to talk to Reaper. Reaper doesn't offer to help Horror, and Horror doesn't ask him to. Being able to talk to someone outside of Nightmare's influence, to experience any amount of normalcy, for a few moments is enough to ground him.

Reaper did not spend as much time raising Dream as Ink did, but in some ways Reaper's influence was much more important. Reaper taught Dream what it meant to be a Guardian, not a hero or a servant. He knows that Dream won't ever be able to just be a Guardian after eating the golden apple (now carrying his domain inside himself), but he does his best to help Dream figure out and understand what his responsibilities actually are. They occasionally see each other in the aftermath of Nightmare's attacks. Reaper is much softer to Dream than to anyone else, and Dream tries to focus on Reaper's voice in his head, instead of those of the villagers.

Fuck I got carried away, okay, time to speedrun the rest (edit: I did not speedrun the rest)

On the omega timeline side of things, swap sans #1 aka "swap" was living there after his universe was destroyed. He is good friends with Lust and Dance (who are besties), but his closest friends for sure are Sci and Fell. They play dnd together and other silly-serious roleplaying stuff. Blueberror offered his place in swap timeline #2 to him, but Swap declined. Even though he declined, he still appreciated the offer so so so much. Swap is Berror's number one defender and doesn't let anyone in the omega timeline get away with talking badly about him (even if he may deserve it).

Fell, Comic (classic), Sci, Swap, Outer, Dream, Blue (swap #3), Epic, and Blueberror (among others) are all part of the Reducing the Effects of Nightmare's Bullshit group. This mostly just includes providing aid to a timeline after the attack has already happened to mitigate the spread and staying power of the negativity. Epic mostly just assists Sci when he needs it, and brings every report back to Ccino's to share with the squad.

Epic sanses are epic sanses. They love each other, and they spend a lot of their time in the corner booth at Ccino's. Ccino (#2) has been in the omega timeline for years and hasn't left it. He's never met Nightmare before, and his friends (especially Delta) are insistent on keeping it that way. He knows that the Ccino from Fluffytale #1 was involved with Nightmare somehow, and disappeared (was pronounced dead) sometime after. He knows that Epic, Delta, and Color all hate Nightmare with varying degrees of intensity, so he's fine disliking Nightmare by proxy. The front counter at Ccino's is usually taken up by Outer and Farm. The three are besties. Outer and Ccino specifically being in a qpr. No one knows how Farm finds the time to laze around the cafe And grow enough to supply the cafe with half its ingredients. No one knows if he ever sleeps.

Rolling back around to Blueberror, he and Error go through a LOT of ups and downs, but they settle on being prickly besties. They can't actually spend a lot of time together before friendly arguments start to get heated. They don't Want to hate each other, so they try to avoid the past and mostly just gossip about other people. They feel tied together, but their edges don't fit together at all and being that close quickly gets uncomfortable, if not painful, but there's no one else who really gets it, so... they manage. It's not great by any means, but it's the best that two errors can do.

Blueberror and Fresh, on the other hand, get along great. On the surface, you'd think they were the best of friends, but their feelings for each other are actually surprisingly shallow. Sure, Blueberror is interesting, but he's interesting in the way that Error was already interesting, so Fresh doesn't actually spare him much of his thought or focus. Berror doesn't mind that at all. Prefers it, actually. They have a good, fun, easy "friendship" that doesn't actually require much from them.

Error and Fresh sure are something. No one knows what, but it's something.

Nightmare and Fresh are... neutral. Fresh owes much of his emotional intelligence to reading every book in Nightmare's library, which he only did with Nightmare's permission. Fresh is respectful... for the most part. He can't help but throw a half-hidden jab in here and there when they talk. Nightmare figures it's just his nature to do so, and lets him off with a warning every time. Fresh absolutely means them.

Ink is not actually around much. His "job" has him traveling all across the multiverse. He doesn't linger anywhere for very long, and he doesn't care to form any meaningful connections with anyone. Error is the only exception to this, and Ink has yet to figure out why that is. He woke Dream from his stone prison at the insistence of a Creator that doing so would help curb Error and Nightmare's rampage (it did not. One could even say it made Nightmare worse.). He'll say he raised Dream, but he didn't really do much, nor does he care about Dream any more than he does about other "important" outcodes.

Dream loves Blue (swap #3). It's actually crazy how much Dream loves Blue. Blue taught Dream to fight, Blue fights by Dream's side in a way no one else does, Blue makes Dream feel like a person, Blue catches his bad habits, Blue listens to him talk, Blue remembers his favorite flowers, how many blankets he likes to sleep with, which desserts he does and doesn't like, his opinion on cotton vs linen. The two of them are more than a little codependent actually. Blue tries to be more levelheaded about their relationship, but it's not easy to be. They're both quite young, for outcodes, and neither one has ever had a partner like this before. If they had any time to settle down, they would be able to work through it and be a little healthier about it, but as it is, Dream has to constantly protect the multiverse from Nightmare, and Blue has to constantly protect Dream from Nightmare.

Blueberror makes Blue viscerally uncomfortable, but he tries not to let that color his interactions with him.

Fatal's origins are a bit different in this multiverse than in his canon, but rest assured he still wants to kick Error's ass. Double G comes from the same inciting incident as Fatal, but has something else completely going on. He goes around interrupting the genocide scripts he finds (Ink is constantly trying to get him to stop). If he stumbles across a timeline that Fatal has interfered with, he regards the glitching aftermath fondly. He can't remember why exactly.

I think everyone else's relationships are either as expected, or not all that relevant to this specific story. None of Geno's relationships happen right away, especially not his relationship with Murder, but I had to tease that found family >:3

Ship chart but it’s not a ship chart it’s a friendship/found family/QPR chart

[loop-lover-central]

(You're starting to think something is wrong with Loop.)

(It was little things at first. An odd movement, or stilted words. You thought it was just your fried timeloop brain so you chose to ignore it.)

(But it's been getting more and more obvious.)

(First, they stopped talking with their hands. Maybe they're just tired, you thought.)

(Loop doesn't breathe anymore either.)

(You always wondered why a star would even need to breathe. Apparently they don't, considering Loop just... stopped doing it all together.)

(Maybe it was just something they did to make you more comfortable, you assumed.)

(But then they stopped blinking too.)

(It's so unnerving. Their eyes never water or falter. They just stare at you.)

(To be honest, you'd started avoiding the favor tree when you could. Not always, but enough to give yourself some space.)

(Being around the star had started to make you feel like bugs were crawling on your skin.)

(And then you forgot the rock trap again.)

(You wake with a slight start before cursing under your breath and clenching your fists. You wait for the pain to pass.)

(Your muscles slowly stop screaming in agony and you take a deep breath.)

[Stardust.]

(You flinch at the sudden voice in your mind. You didn't think you'd ever get used to them doing that.)

[Teehee, sorry! Just thought I'd pop in. It's been a few loops, you know? Why don't you stop by? Poor Loop gets lonely too!]

(Suddenly your mouth feels dry. Has it really been long enough for Loop to notice? You feel a little bad...)

(After talking with Mira and Isa you make your way to the tree.)

(Ducking under the leaves into the dark. Loop... isn't looking at you. They're staring off into the woodlands behind the tree.)

"Um... Loop?"

"Siffrin."

(You pause. They... don't call you that. You think they may have called you that once or twice at the start. But that was all. Your name sounds so alien from them.)

(They're... still not looking at you.)

"Siffrin, you've been ignoring me."

(You continue to stand there, completely unsure how to proceed. Were they mad? They didn't sound... mad. That wasn't anger. You actually couldn't really place their tone other than something negative.)

"I-I... I haven't meant to? Just... busy with the loops, y'know?"

(You swallow nervously.)

(They don't respond.)

(They still don't look at you.)

(You realize just how quiet it is. None of the nearby birds 'piou'.)

"Loo-"

(Before you can, they cut you off.)

"You're really bad at lying."

(You frown and tuck into your cloak.)

"I'm not-"

"Siffrin."

(You bite your tongue.)

(They still don't look at you.)

"... Sorry."

(They hum in acknowledgement, but they don't accept the apology.)

(Then something on a sudden breeze catches your nose. Your face screws up. It smells... kinda sweet but pungent at the same time. Like- . . .)

(You feeling yourself start to sweat and Loop finally turns to face you.)

[earthlybeam]

Could you do elves with parter reader (established relationship but a new one) where the reader isn't used to being treated with kindness. Like maybe they were in an abusive relationship before that they haven't really opened up about and how the elves would react to them flinching/ expecting them to be angry over normal things/ being shocked at being treated with normal decency etc

Could you do this with Cirdan, Thranduil, Elrond and Gil galad

Thanks and love you work !!!

Thank you so much for your thoughtful and encouraging words, They truly mean a lot and are deeply appreciated. ❤️‍🔥🥺✨

Gil-Galad, Thranduil, Elrond, Cirdan version below.

🏵️𝓖𝓲𝓵-𝓰𝓪𝓵𝓪𝓭

The realization comes suddenly, like a cold hand gripping your chest. A mistake—small, perhaps, but still a mistake. You’ve forgotten something. An errand, a meeting, a task he had entrusted to you, and in the rush of the day, it had slipped from your mind completely. Your breath hitches. Your hands grow cold.

You stop where you stand, heart hammering, as if the very walls of Lindon might close in around you. A familiar dread coils in your stomach, tightening with each passing second. He will be disappointed. He will not say it outright—no, not in anger. But he will remember. He will store it away, bring it up later in those small, insidious ways that linger beneath the surface of kind words. A passing remark, a quiet sigh, a subtle reminder that your fault has not been forgotten.

You have lived this before. A breath stumbles out of you, and you brace yourself, already reaching for an explanation before he even knows there is something to forgive. “I—I’m sorry,” you blurt out, your voice too fast, too unsteady. “I didn’t mean to forget, I just got caught up in something, and I—” The words tumble out before you can stop them, desperate to explain, to preempt the reaction you fear is coming.

Gil-galad, who had been reading at his desk, looks up at the sound of your voice. His expression is calm, steady. He studies you with quiet intent, his sharp eyes missing nothing. But there is no flicker of disappointment, no tightening of his jaw or brief falter in his movements that might betray frustration.

You wait for it anyway. You wait for the sigh, the weary remark that will sit like a stone in your chest for days. For the cool silence that will follow, an unspoken reminder of your failure. You wait, body rigid, heart thudding in your ribs like a trapped bird. But it does not come. “It is forgotten,” he says simply. His voice is even, untroubled, as if the mistake itself holds no weight. “There is nothing to apologize for.”

For a moment, you do not understand the words. They should bring relief, should allow you to breathe again. But instead, you remain tense, caught between the instinct to defend yourself and the unsettling kindness before you. Your mind races, searching for the hidden edge in his tone, the faintest sign that his patience is not infinite.

Gil-galad sees it. His brow creases—not in irritation, but in something softer, something almost pained. Slowly, deliberately, he sets the book aside and rises, his movements careful, measured. There is no sharpness, no sudden motion to startle you. “Do you think so little of my love that you expect me to hold this against you?” His voice is gentle, but beneath it is something else—something deeply sorrowful.

You freeze. You do not know how to answer. He watches you—not with judgment, not with disappointment, but with the quiet understanding of someone who has long known how to read between the lines. He does not press, does not demand an explanation. But the way his head tilts, the way his hands remain at his sides rather than reaching for you—he knows.

“Love is not a tally of mistakes,” he murmurs, his voice a steady anchor against the storm in your mind. “It is not a weapon to be wielded against you.” The words land somewhere deep within you, in a place long locked away, where love had always been a thing to be earned, a fragile thing that could be taken away with the slightest misstep. You had been taught that love was conditional, that affection came with rules and unspoken debts.

But here he stands, telling you otherwise. He sees the wariness still clinging to you, the shadow of past wounds that have not yet faded. And he does not push them aside, does not try to pry them from your grasp before you are ready. Gil-galad exhales softly. Then—without hesitation—he reaches for your hands.

His touch is warm, grounding. He does not hold too tightly, leaving room for you to pull away if you wish. But when his thumbs brush lightly over your knuckles, his touch is firm, reassuring. “You are allowed to forget things, meleth nin.” His voice is low, steady. “You are allowed to make mistakes. I will not use them to wound you.”

Your breath wavers, something tightening in your throat. You want to believe him. Want to trust that love could be something as steady, as unwavering as the warmth of his hands against yours. “I do not know how to unlearn it,” you confess, the words barely above a whisper.

Gil-galad does not waver. His hold does not tighten, nor does he let go. Instead, he nods, as if this is the answer he expected. “Then let me show you,” he says, his voice filled with quiet certainty. And he does. Not just with words, but with actions. He never brings it up again. There are no lingering remarks, no subtle reminders, no shift in how he treats you. His affection does not wane, his patience does not fray. He does not make you prove yourself worthy of his love. He teaches you—not with grand gestures or sweeping declarations, but with something far simpler. With love that does not count your mistakes.

🍷𝓣𝓱𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓾𝓲𝓵

The evening air was cool, laced with the scent of the ancient trees that surrounded Thranduil’s halls. The gentle rustling of leaves in the canopy above created a soft, whispering symphony, and the glow of candlelight flickered against the polished stone walls of his private chambers. It was a quiet moment, one of the few where neither of you felt the need to speak. The weight of the world, the duties he bore, and the shadows you carried—none of it mattered here, not in this fragile bubble of peace.

You sat beside him, the warmth of his presence a steady thing at your side. This was still new, this closeness, and you found yourself treading carefully, as if one wrong step might shatter whatever it was that had begun to form between you.

Your gaze wandered, drawn to the way the candlelight caught in his hair, a silver cascade that gleamed like moonlight against his pale skin. There was an effortless regality about him, a quiet power in the way he carried himself. He looked untouchable, as eternal as the trees of his kingdom, and yet, here he was, close enough to reach for—if only you dared.

And then, without thought, he reached for you. A simple thing, an unthinking gesture—his hand lifted toward your face, fingers poised to brush aside a stray strand of hair that had fallen against your cheek. But before his fingertips could make contact, before you could even register what was happening, instinct took hold. You flinched. It was slight, barely a flicker of movement, but enough. The tension in your shoulders, the way your breath caught, the brief tightening of your jaw—you knew it was there, and worse, so did he.

Thranduil’s hand froze midair. His fingers, mere inches from your skin, lingered for a heartbeat too long before he withdrew, slow and measured, as though unwilling to startle you further. The shift in his expression was barely perceptible, but you saw it—the way his sharp, piercing gaze darkened, not in offense, but in realization.

Your stomach twisted. Foolish. You knew better. You had spent years perfecting the art of keeping such reactions hidden, of swallowing them down, of smoothing your features into something unreadable. But the body was treacherous, bound by instinct rather than reason. And now, you had given yourself away. You cursed yourself silently.

“I—” The word barely left your lips before you stopped, swallowing hard. What could you even say? That it was nothing? That it was a reflex? That he shouldn’t make something of it? He had seen the truth, and worse, he had understood it. The silence that stretched between you was not an empty one. It was heavy, weighted with something unspoken, something neither of you were quite ready to name.

Thranduil was not a man who acted carelessly. He did not fill silences with meaningless reassurances or rush to smooth over uncomfortable truths. He was deliberate in all things, and so, when he finally spoke, his words carried the weight of careful consideration.

“Who made you expect pain from something so gentle?” His voice was soft, but beneath it lay something sharper, colder—not toward you, never toward you, but toward the memory of whoever had instilled this reflex into you. The question settled like a stone in your chest.

You did not answer. Not immediately. Because how could you? You had spent so long swallowing the past, convincing yourself it was behind you, that it did not matter anymore. And yet, here it was, surfacing in a single, involuntary movement. It was humiliating, infuriating, and worst of all, undeniable.

Thranduil did not push. He did not demand explanations or force you to meet his gaze. He only waited, his patience as vast as the ages he had lived. Your hands curled into your lap, fingers pressing into your palms. “I—” The words tangled in your throat, a bitter knot of hesitation. You wanted to say it was nothing, that it didn’t matter, that he shouldn’t look at you like that—with understanding, with pity. But you could not force the lie past your lips.

His gaze remained steady, unwavering. And then, with the same deliberate care he always carried, he reached for you again. This time, there was no suddenness to it. No movement quick enough to startle. His hand moved downward instead of toward your face, his fingers brushing against your own, resting lightly atop your hand. A touch so careful, so measured, it was almost weightless.

But it was there. And it was yours to accept or to pull away from. You let out a slow breath, forcing your shoulders to relax, the tension unwinding just enough. You did not pull away. His hand lingered, warm against your skin, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a single, quiet motion. It was not meant to soothe or comfort, not an attempt to erase the past or fix what had already been done. It was simply a presence. A reminder that you were not alone in this moment.

“You are safe.” His voice was softer now, the earlier edge tempered into something quieter, something more sure. “Whatever ghosts you carry, they will find no hold here.” The words settled deep, slipping past your carefully constructed defenses before you could stop them. You had no response, no way to put into words the tangled emotions pressing against your ribs.

So you only nodded, allowing the weight of his words to settle around you. Thranduil did not ask for more. Not tonight. He did not need answers, nor explanations. He only needed you to understand one thing—he would never be a man you had to flinch from. And somehow, despite everything, you believed him.

📜 𝓔𝓵𝓻𝓸𝓷𝓭

The library of Rivendell was a sanctuary of quiet, a haven of parchment and ink, where the scent of aged vellum mingled with the faint trace of lavender and candle wax. The golden light of late afternoon streamed through the tall windows, spilling warmth over the polished wooden floors, casting long shadows that danced with the flickering of the lamps.

You sat curled in one of the carved chairs near the window, your legs tucked beneath you, a thick, leather-bound book resting in your lap. It was peaceful here, the kind of peace you were still learning to accept, still hesitant to trust. But in Elrond’s presence, it was easier. He was steady—calm and patient, never demanding, never pressing. Even in silence, there was a quiet understanding between you, a newness to your relationship that felt like standing at the edge of something vast and uncharted. It should have been terrifying. But with him, it felt… safe.

At his desk, Elrond worked with quiet efficiency, the smooth glide of his quill over parchment the only sound breaking the stillness. He was composing a letter, his brow furrowed slightly in thought, though not in frustration. He had a way of carrying himself that spoke of wisdom and measured restraint, of power held carefully in check. With him, you never had to guess at his mood, never had to walk on uneven ground, wondering when it would give way beneath you. He was predictable in the way a river was—flowing steadily, unwavering in its course.

But then his voice rose, clear and commanding.“LINDIR!” The name echoed through the chamber, firm and authoritative, a summons rather than a reprimand. But the instant the sharpness registered, something inside you recoiled. It was not anger—your mind knew this. He was not speaking to you—you knew this too. And yet, the reaction was already set in motion before reason could intervene.

Your shoulders tensed, your hands clenching around the edges of your book. The breath caught in your throat, too shallow, too quick. A shiver ran down your spine—not from cold, but from instinct. Your heart pounded against your ribs, and in that brief, terrible moment, you were no longer in Rivendell. No longer in the warmth of the library, in the company of a man who had only ever shown you kindness. You had flinched. The moment was small, subtle—barely more than a tremor. Perhaps most would not have noticed. But Elrond did.

The sound of rustling parchment ceased. Silence settled between you, but you felt his gaze before you dared meet it. His eyes, sharp as a blade and yet impossibly gentle, flickered from your face to the rigid set of your shoulders, the way your fingers had curled so tightly around the book that your knuckles were white. You forced yourself to relax, to smooth over the moment before it could become something real. You knew how to do that—how to swallow down fear, how to dismiss your own reactions as nothing, how to pretend. “I was not angry,” Elrond said softly, his voice now a soothing contrast to the sharpness that had startled you. “Nor was my voice meant for you.”

The kindness in his tone was worse than if he had ignored it. Worse because it asked nothing of you but acknowledgment. Worse because it was patient. Worse because it saw you. You swallowed, shaking your head as if to dismiss the entire thing, trying to will your body into forgetting. “I know,” you murmured, forcing your voice into something steady, something dismissive. It was fine. It was nothing. Just a foolish reaction. You could move past it. You always had before.

But Elrond was not so easily deterred. He did not speak right away. He did not press, did not demand explanations you were not ready to give. Instead, he simply remained—watchful but not scrutinizing, steady but not imposing. And then, slowly, he extended a hand toward you. Palm up, fingers relaxed, offering rather than insisting. You stared at it for a moment.

The instinct to refuse, to pull away, was immediate. It had always been easier to deny comfort than to accept it, easier to pretend you didn’t need it. But Elrond’s patience was a quiet thing, unwavering and endless. He would not withdraw his hand if you did not take it. He would not be wounded if you refused. It was simply there, waiting, reminding you that you did not have to navigate this alone.

Tentatively, you let your fingers brush against his. His hand was warm. Steady. The contact was not possessive, not seeking to hold or control—only to anchor. The moment you accepted it, his fingers curled around yours, not to keep you in place, but to assure you that you were not lost. “I would never raise my voice in anger toward you,” he said, quiet and certain. “Nor do I wish for you to fear me.” The words settled in your chest, unfamiliar in their gentleness, in the way they asked nothing of you but to believe them. You wanted to believe them.

Your fingers tightened slightly around his, just a small shift—but it was enough. A silent acknowledgment. Not a promise that you would stop reacting this way overnight, nor that you could undo the years of conditioning that had taught you to brace for pain where there was none. But for now, in this moment, you allowed yourself to breathe. And Elrond, ever patient, simply remained at your side.

🌊 𝓬í𝓻𝓭𝓪𝓷

The wind carried the scent of salt and woodsmoke through the Grey Havens, crisp and familiar, whispering across the docks where Círdan worked. The golden light of the setting sun shimmered across the waves, gilding the wooden planks beneath your feet and casting long, gentle shadows across the shipwright’s steady form. The rhythmic lapping of the tide against the shore blended with the distant cries of gulls, filling the air with the quiet hum of a world in motion—one that Círdan had known for countless ages.

You stood nearby, watching him work with quiet admiration. His hands, calloused from centuries of shaping wood and weaving sails, moved with a certainty that spoke of experience beyond reckoning. There was something soothing about the way he carried himself—unhurried, precise, as though time itself bent to his will rather than the other way around.

Beside you, a small wooden box rested on the dock, filled with nails and tools for his latest vessel. You had been lost in thought, content to exist in this moment, basking in the peace that seemed to settle around Círdan like the tide at dusk. But in your distraction, you shifted your foot too suddenly, knocking the box from its place.

The sharp clatter of nails spilling across the dock split the air like a whip crack. Your breath caught. Too loud. Too sudden. Too much. The reaction came before thought—your stomach clenched, hands jerking up in instinctive apology, heart pounding as though the small mistake carried the weight of something greater. “I’m sorry,” you blurted out, already dropping to your knees to gather the scattered nails. “I wasn’t paying attention, I—”

The words tumbled from you before you could stop them, before you could even consider if they were necessary. You braced yourself for what would come next—a sigh of exasperation, a sharp look, quiet disappointment at your clumsiness. You had interrupted him. You had caused a mess. You had— Warmth. Not anger. Not even the slightest trace of frustration. Just warmth, as Círdan’s large, steady hands covered yours, halting your frantic movements. His touch was gentle, grounding, like the solid weight of the earth beneath your feet after too long spent adrift at sea.

“There is no need for that, meleth,” he said, his voice deep and steady as the waves beyond the harbor. His thumbs brushed lightly over your fingers before he withdrew, kneeling beside you with the same unshaken calm he always carried. “It is a small thing.”

But it did not feel small. Not to you. You swallowed hard, forcing your breath to steady, but the tightness in your chest remained. “I wasn’t thinking. I—I’ll be more careful next time.” Círdan’s keen eyes studied you, the depth of his gaze seeming to pierce through layers you had carefully built around yourself. When he spoke again, there was no scolding, no chastisement—only quiet understanding, something deeper than mere sympathy. “You apologize often,” he observed, his tone absent of judgment. Your fingers curled slightly around one of the fallen nails. “I don’t mean to.”

“I know.” He picked up a few of the scattered nails himself, placing them back into the wooden box with slow, deliberate movements, as though to show you there was no urgency, no cause for distress. “But there is no fault here. No harm done.” You nodded, but the familiar knot in your chest did not loosen. You knew he meant his words. Knew, logically, that he was not merely placating you, not holding back irritation that would emerge later. And yet—your body still braced for something that would never come.

A sigh left Círdan’s lips then, but it was not heavy with frustration. No, it was something softer. Something knowing. “I have done the same,” he admitted after a pause. His voice, usually so steady, carried a thread of something distant—something old, something worn but not broken. You glanced up at him in surprise. “You?”

He nodded, his gaze drifting for a moment toward the western horizon, where the sun’s light met the endless sea. “A long time ago, I apologized for things that did not need apology. For staying behind when my heart longed for the West. For burdens that were never mine alone to carry.” He turned his eyes back to you then, ancient and fathomless as the waves. “But those who loved me did not ask for my apologies. Just as I do not ask them from you.”

Your throat felt tight again, but this time, it was not from fear. Círdan reached for your hands once more, slower this time, giving you the choice to pull away if you wished. You did not. You let him take them, let his warmth settle over you like the tide washing away the debris of a long, storm-ridden shore.

“You do not need to apologize for existing,” he murmured, pressing his palm gently against yours. “Nor for small things that do not trouble me. You are not a burden.” It should have been simple. It should have been easy to believe. But the weight of those words, the sheer certainty in them, settled deep inside you like the first breath of fresh air after years spent beneath heavy waters. Círdan did not rush you to answer. He did not demand that you believe him in an instant. He only gave you time. And for the first time, you let yourself consider the possibility that he might be right.

[navybrat817]

Happy valentines day in advance my dear Navy😘

I saw these dark prompts you shared

“It makes my blood boil every time I see you talking to him/her/them.”

“Go ahead, lock your doors, change your phone number. I’ll still find you.”

“I would never ever hurt you.”

And I thought they would go amazingly with our favorite sheriff Lee Bodecker OR with Boxer!Curtis Everett👀 I hope this inspires something ✨❤️

My beautiful Carrot! Someone else asked for Lee and “Go ahead, lock your doors, change your phone number. I’ll still find you.”, so I went with Curtis. Hope you like it!

Cold as Ice

Pairing: Soft!Dark!Boxer!Curtis Everett x Female Reader

Summary: The newest boxer at the gym sets his sights on you.

Word Count: Over 900

Warnings: Possessive and overbearing behavior, dark vibes, talk of violence (not against reader), Curtis Everett (he's a warning, okay?)

A/N: Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @saradika-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You tapped your finger against the keyboard as you looked over the schedule. You needed a vacation, and you luckily had some time, and a bit of money saved up. It was just a matter of how soon you could take it because you needed the break. Somewhere warm, and far away.

It wasn't that you didn't want to be at the gym. You really loved working there. It had its perks like free workouts and being close to some of your favorite spots. But it was getting to be more and more stressful going into work each day. All thanks to Curtis Everett.

The boxer with a mean right hook, buzzed hair and a beard as dark as coal, and eyes as cold as ice. For whatever reason set his sights on you the second he joined the gym. Maybe because you smiled at him. You really didn’t know. But it didn't take long for his workout schedule to conveniently match the days you were working. If he had a question or issue, you were the only one who could help him. Even if you were busy helping someone else, he’d wait. Your boss didn’t seem to care when you made a comment in passing one day since he was a “customer” and it was expected of you to provide the best service.

Curtis seemed to always be where you were, too, which wouldn't be so bad if he wasn't so imposing. If you were in a certain area, cleaning machines or setting anything up, he was suddenly there like a shadow casting darkness over you. You felt like you couldn’t breathe with him so close. He even left when you did some nights, keeping only a small distance while you went to your car and not walking on until you got in safely. You always locked the door quickly just to be on the safe side.

Some days he didn't say much to you. Just grunted or stared, or glared at anyone who spoke to you. The last guy who tried to flirt with you ended up with a broken jaw when Curtis offered to do a practice round with him. And while the guy was on the ground in pain, Curtis looked over at you. The expression “blood ran cold” was a real thing because you immediately trembled under his gaze.

It was just getting to be too much.

“Have a good night,” Steve said when he walked by.

You looked away from the computer and nodded. Steve Rogers was one of the best boxers around, and one of the kindest. He was also good looking. The entire package. “You, too, Steve.”

He stopped, his brows pinching when he took in your expression. “Are you okay?”

“I will be. “Steve was a good guy. If you said someone was bothering you, he would've stepped in and helped. You couldn't ask that of him. This was your problem to deal with. “Thanks.”

“Well, let me know if you need anything,” he said, flashing that kind smile of his.

“I appreciate it,” you smiled back. Your shoulders slumped when he walked out. He was one of the last guys to leave. Oh, god. That meant the only person left was-

“It makes my blood boil every time I see you talking to him.”

The bass of Curtis’s voice made you jump. You hated how easily he scared you. “Curtis, you shouldn’t be behind the counter,” you chastised, closing out the schedule.

“And you shouldn’t be flirting with Rogers, but here we are,” he said, gripping your shoulder and spinning you around to face him. His nostrils flared as he towered over you, and you feared he might strike you. Your eyes rounded at the thought, your back hitting the counter when you backed up. “Were you smiling that sweet smile that should only be for me?”

“I-I wasn’t,” you promised, shaking when he brought a calloused hand to your cheek. He wouldn’t try anything, right? Not out there in the open. And it wasn’t like the security cameras would catch anything. Your boss said they went out recently and he had to get them fixed. “Curtis, please.”

“You think I’m going to hurt you?” The ice in his eyes melted only a little as he closed the distance, his lips ghosting yours. “I would never, ever hurt you.”

You trembled, wanting so badly to believe him. “What do you want from me?” you asked, hating how small your voice sounded.

“I want you to finish up work and tell me where you’re planning to go on your trip,” he answered, chuckling at your expression. “You think I didn’t know? Of course I knew. And I’m going with you.”

He might as well have punched you with how winded you suddenly felt. “Go with me? But-”

“And Rogers might not go down as easily as that other prick, but I’ll wreck him if I catch you flirting with him again and I’ll give him a lot worse than a broken jaw. That’s a promise,” he said, brushing his nose against yours before he pulled away. You had to reach behind you and grab the counter to keep from falling. “Let’s go. We need to figure out the details for our trip.”

Tears blurred your vision. “Curtis-”

“Just nowhere cold,” he interrupted, his icy blue eyes on you like always. “I hate the cold.”

Love and thanks for participating! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[the-fever-pitch]

Ey, handsome, let me be your personal cupid this Valentine's Day! Tell me, who's going to be your date tonight?

— An innocent angel trapped just for you, ready to be corrupted. Unable to free himself from his chains, he looks at you in fear from the mattress. He knows that if he tastes the pleasures of the flesh, he will be completely submitted, to them, to you. You will be their new god, blindly devoted.

— A werewolf ready to hunt you. The night is long and who knows what is hiding, lurking in the shadows of the trees. He’ll come for you, pin you to the ground and fuck you all night until there is no room left for more cum inside you. An animal in heat. Or maybe you are the one who wants to have a victim to hunt? 

— A demon ready to corrupt you. The priest of your church considers that your sins have no remedy, so he has tied you up and sold you as an offering to infernal beings. But it's not hell if you like how it burns. Each fluid corrupts you more, pain becomes pleasure and before sunrise you’ll be the perfect toy for his carnal desires.

— A beautiful bunny with a tight bodysuit and fishnet stockings ready to fight you tonight. He wants to play and tempt you until he pushes you to your limit. Ready to tame a brat?

— A big cowboy, good at roping and ready to teach you how to ride like a real man. After all, a pretty thing like you can't wander around alone, and he needs something to relieve stress after long days at work.

— A beautiful little puppy covered in a leather outfit, educated and ready to obey. Prepared to kneel before you and beg for everything they want you to do to them, willing to do anything to get it. So desperate, how adorable.

— A doctor, with a broad back and straight posture who invites you to his office for an examination. And of course, you trust him, he knows what is best for you. Plus, we both know that the sound his gloves make when he puts them on, when they run over your skin, it makes you so so horny. Maybe he can do something about it.

Not seeing anything you like on the menu? It's okay, ask me and I'll give it to you. I love to please my guests.

[susitseart]

Our Heart.

Made of us.

Together, it’s whole. And so are we.

Separated, it’s broken. And we are nothing.

Only love can form this heart. A love that can exist in many forms for us. As platonic or romantic. As lighter or deeper.

But maybe we’re talking about true love, when the soul of another touches our soul. When our soul touches the soul of another.

This mutual touch implies unconditional understanding and acceptance. A sense of affection and belonging. A shared wish that this lonely world wouldn’t be so lonely for us anymore.

And when our souls accept each other as their own, something wondrous happens.

The other becomes our counterpart. Another side of ourselves.

Vital to us. Or so we are willing to swear. For one’s bliss is our bliss, and one’s pain is our pain.

It makes us whole. Makes our heart whole. When we are together with the one we love.

But once a heart is formed, it can also get broken.

The halves of the heart can grow apart. The halves of the heart can betray each other. The halves of the heart can realize that this heart should never have existed.

When one half of the heart hurts the other, the heart becomes cracked.

When the heart becomes cracked enough, it breaks.

And then there’s heart no more.

That’s when our soul also detaches from the other’s soul. It can hurt us deeply. Even somehow permanently.

It may be the worst pain we ever feel.

But sometimes it can be good. Sometimes growing apart or being torn apart is good. It’s good, if we need it. If sharing a common heart with another has become toxic for us.

It’s true that when this happens, we drift back into lonely darkness. It’s true that maybe the fear of the dark has held our broken, toxic hearts together for too long.

But after all, we are lucky. Lucky because nothing in our lifetime is final. Not even the darkness or pain.

Everything is temporary. We as well.

That is why we are lucky if we love, or ever have been able to love.

It may be the most wondrous thing we can ever experience.

- - - - - - - - - - -

Is your heart whole or broken?

- - - - - - - - - - -

Right now, my heart is whole. Maybe a little cracked here and there, because many years have passed. But whole and strong nonetheless.�

Love means a lot to me. The fact that my soul can and is able to connect with someone else's soul feels more than I dared to hope for in this lonely world. Almost like a privilege. Because so many are alone in this world.

Love is like a blessing and a curse. I know it's not for everyone, and it doesn't have to be.

The main thing is that each of us strives to be as happy as possible in our own way.

That's why I hope that all those who long for love in this lonely world will eventually find someone to share their soul with and form a common heart with.

Also. A few more thoughts on a broken heart.�

If my heart, our heart, was torn in two for some reason, I would be scared. Of course I would, after so many years. I would be lost and desperate for a long time.

But while writing this story, I realized that despite the pain, I might make it. Eventually.

Even though my heart is strong and whole right now, it feels comforting to know that even the worst wouldn't be the end of the world. It wouldn't be. Because few things are the actual end of the world, even if it often feels like it.

We will make it. Because we are often stronger than we can imagine.

We'll be fine. Whether our hearts are whole, in danger of breaking, or broken.

Happy Valentine's Day friends ❤ I wanted to post these little Patreon illustrations for you as a gift today. It's a privilege to have you here with me. More times than you know, you have taken away my loneliness and given my life a purpose. And for that I am very grateful.

I hope that this and each day has been great for you 🐺💜

[amoeganism]

DON'T LIE, I'M PERFECT AND YOU LOVE ME luka

Luka really wants to take a nap after a long day of being exploited and being a pain in the ass to every human around him, but your priorities (pissing him off) come first!

WC: ~600

Your boyfriend, visibly exhausted, miserably slumps his upper body onto his bed and his knees collapse. Bundled under mounds of thick blankets, you reach an arm out to ruffle Luka’s blond hair, brushing through his wavy locks and petting his head like a dog. You snicker at the sight of his face contorting after realizing what you’re doing, lazily swiping your hand away and grunting before coughing into his arm. 

It takes you a few moments to inch over to where Luka lays. You didn’t want to sacrifice the comfort of being suffocated and melting into your bed until you’re a pile of sweat and nasty mulch. His eyes slowly flutter shut and his breathing slows but the uncomfortable position he’s in acts as a barrier between him and falling into a deep sleep. However, it takes too much energy to try to pull Luka fully onto the mattress, but what doesn’t take much energy is disrupting the rest he needs. You aren’t planning on getting the title of “Number One Lover of a Superstar” and you hadn’t seen him the entire day since you both had woken up; you deserve this, you reason to yourself. 

Under your fingertips, you switch between prodding and poking his pale cheeks until they warm and bloom into a faint pink. Luka tries his best to make you stop, puffing his cheeks and intertwining your fingers together but you retaliate by grabbing his face and watching him deflate. It gives you a slight ego boost when he gives up and chooses to throw his lanky limbs over you, adding his heavy bodyweight over the mass of your blankets.

“How was your day of terrorizing the music industry?” you ask, immediately returning to pinching his cheeks. 

“I don’t need to terrorize anyone. Everyone already knows that I’m a fan favorite.”

“Yeah because I totally hallucinated you having at least ten different tabs about Mizi and you weren’t writing in a notebook titled ‘Evil and Devious Masterplan’. You’re embarrassing when you beef with people eight years younger than you.”

“God forbid a man has hobbies.”

“Yeah I really hate it. Stick to singing and looking cute. Only I deserve to see your evil. It makes me feel special when you aren’t exposing yourself to everyone.”

“You make it sound like I’m flashing the public.”

“You pretty much are. Your dick and bad personality are the same thing.”

“You’re so mean to me,” Luka whines in which you stick your tongue out at him in response. “I’m an innocent man who can do nothing bad. Ever. And here I am, being mistreated by the one who is supposed to love me until and beyond death. What did I do to deserve this?”

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry Luka,” you press a kiss to his sore, red cheek, letting your lips linger on his skin before hugging him tighter. At the same time, you ignore the fact that he is a thirty year old man throwing a minor tantrum over you having fun being insufferable the same way he does on a daily basis. “Anyways, can I bite your face? I have a really bad urge to do that right now. Actually, I don’t need your permission.”

“Hey! I have a show tomorrow, you know? My fans are going to be disappointed if I appear with teeth marks on my face. What will the public think—ow!”

“Hehe, you’re so cute like this.”

“At least bite the other side to even it out,” Luka sighs and turns his head. 

“I knew you loved me.”

[raycatz]

Hi Ray!! Hope you're doing fine ^^

Kinda random question, but I guess Wind is your favourite Link so, do you have headcanons for him?!

And if not, who's your favourite blorbo? >:·3

(no pressure to answer this ask tho hehe!)

Hiya Perry!

My favorites go like this! >:D

(Hyrule and Wild are fighting for 4th with Hyrule at a lead lol. He's grown on me since getting to know Zola! xD )

I can share some headcanons for the top three! (I got excited getting an ask from you so I drew a couple things and wrote a lot ashgfjsdfs. The post got long so I'll thrown in a read more somewhere.)

Four

Reading buddies with Twi. They tell each other about what they're reading. Sky and Wind like to listen and ask questions.

Pegasus boots + Roc's cape = some pretty impressive jumps (eight-foot vertical leap Griffin McElroy meme.) He's only outmatched by Rulie. Four and Legend should compete to see who has the greater horizonal distance.

Four loves purple sweet potatoes! It's sweet, umami, filling, and how often do you get to eat something that's purple? It's kind of an expansion of/inspired by a hc + art by w1lmutt. (imo Four's a fan of purple food in general. Four and that one girl from Tarrey Town are the biggest fans of Wild's monster cake recipe.) Set Four up with a purple potato right off of the fire and he's doing great. (Do you think he could have a potato cooking on the side while working at the forge? in like a dutch oven? put the potato in the forge!!!)

The name of the forge is the Four Element Forge (which I first read in blueskullcandy's fics! ("Alone Together" I think?))

Four has a cat! Tongs the Benevolent has my whole heart. (Tongs is also the creation of blueskullcandy @fuckit-hero-of-trains. Hi Train! Here's a little fic of them meeting x. here's art I made of her x. here's Train's tag for her x! More!)

Four with headaches / migraines. There has to be some trope about inflicting the clever/thinker character with head hurty and I'm here for it with Four. Any pain can make it difficult to think, but having that pain be concentrated to the head is more poignant, idk xD something to impede a strength of his. I also think that Four having migraines that are worsened by light is poetic, as being hurt by light gives him something in common with Shadow.

(Four with a headache with Tongs and Twi helping <3 )

Thoughts on the Four Sword's abilities: Can the elemental magic infused into the sword be tapped into and does it still have the ability to make ghost / prism refraction copies?

(img from IGN)

cont. In Minish Cap, as you power up the White Sword with the elemental stones, you're able to summon copies of Link. However, Link can only do this over specific tiles, the prisms run on a timed meter, and if they're hit they vanish. It's like a magic meter! I headcanon that Four isn't great with magic himself. However, if the prisms are summoned by magic, then what if it's Four channeling his magic into the White Sword to get that to happen. (also, maybe he's been relying on help from the tiles or Ezlo.) At the end of Minish Cap, he put the sword back and that was that. At the start of FS/FSA however, something changed when he pulled the sword, causing him to split fully. Maybe the sword needed something different from him. Maybe he was so frantic about Zelda being kidnapped and needing to defend himself from Shadow that he poured too much magic into the sword and it changed him. Maybe the sword's power upgraded. Whatever happened, he no longer has access to the prism ability of the Four Sword and instead splits, with splitting not being a drain on his magic. Four has just assumed that the prisms is an ability the Four Sword no longer has. Put the Four Sword into the hands of someone else with magic, though, and this isn't the case! (or maybe it's a scenario with an earlier iteration of the sword.) I have a scenario in my head where Four is separated from it in battle and Wind picks it up. Wind channels some magic into it on reflex for a spin attack or something and the prism copies pop up much to EVERYONE'S SURPRISE. Wind would think it's So Cool. Why haven't you shown us this before??!! Meanwhile Four just, honestly didn't know it could do that anymore. Cue Four Sword show-and-tell because what could be the harm (Four doesn't have to tell about the splitting thing and maybe the chain can help him learn about the copies) Wind, Legend, Time, and Hyrule can pull them up with ease. Put the sword into the hands of Hyrule or Legend who are more familiar with magic, however, and I think they could tap into the elements infused into the blade. Each of the copies channel a different element: being wind, fire, ice, and stone (with the Four Sword itself being Light.) Hyrule's able to move the copies around independently of each other but it takes a lot of focus. Legend on the other hand is better with the elemental stuff but he can feel there's something more to the Four Sword. Like, "Four, the magic well in this item is pretty deep / unstable. I don't want to tell you how to use your items, but careful not to put too much into this." Four: *wtf wtf wtf.* Or Legend would try pushing the boundaries of the sword, start going weird and flickery, and would be hastily stopped by Four.

Wind

He and Aryll meow at each other! >:3c He meows during a side-quest and I want an excuse for him to do it more often. I think he and Aryll are very much the type to make weird noises in greeting.

Cartography and navigation buff! Phantom Hourglass has you marking up the map so I think it's something Wind's good at and enjoys. Celestial navigation is in there too. Beyond using the stars to navigate, I think he's into star stories. Each constellation has a story that Wind is happy to retell. He wants to collect as many and their variations between eras as possible.

Wind has to admit that Twi, Sky, and Wild's pumpkin soup is pretty good (not as good as Grandma's, but still pretty dang good.) He got a pumpkin sprout in Sky's era and it lives in one of his bottles. Its name is Soup!

Fandom headcanons I've picked up that I'm fond of: Wind can see ghosts, Wind needs new shoes and isn't super jazzed about all this walking, Wind's family shield is passed down from Four, Wind is scared of / intimidated by large birds which opens up storytelling opportunities with Sky's loftwing, (honorable mention to the WW headcanon that Link's nearsighted due to him squinting in cutscenes. I don't hc it for LU Wind but it's neat to see it picked up! (ex: Wind from Linked Maze!))

Legend

I love Sister_Dear's writing (@sister-dear hi Sister 😳) and my interpretation of Legend reflects that. (here's Sister's list of Legend headcanons lol) (Keso's art is a big influence as well.)

Legend with arthritis / chronic pain in his hands/knees. It's just nice to see nods to it. Legend massaging his hands, or using a cane (louieeeee!), or grumbling about the weather. There's a headcanon that goes along with it that he has rings which lessen the symptoms.

Legend as poly and bi for Marin and Ravio. Courtesy of Wolfy (@wolfy1298) and this comic.

Genderfluid Legend. I like Sister's bullet-point, "Goes by ‘he’ but feels fairly ambivalent about the pronoun. Doesn't like to present as overly masculine. (Either a case of Legend being all ‘fuck gender roles’ or his Hyrule just having different gender norms.) Likes putting on dresses and makeup when the opportunity arises, doesn't like to do his hair." That! But I like to add that Legend will swap pronouns as well on what feels best. Hand-Me-Downs by That_G3_Obsessive (@that-g3-artist 👋) is a favorite of mine and has beautiful representation of genderfluid/queer Legend. Legend figures Wind could use some better fitting clothes, and shifting through Legend's wardrobe leads Wind to ask about the dresses there.

(has Taako from The Adventure Zone vibes going on in presentation and snark. Love me a bunny toothed GNC gay elf wizard twin who has a secret they don't want anyone to know and who's done with this shit. Please appreciate Taako thank you yippee yahoo!)

(Tried drawing Taako to mixed results but I think Legend would dig his vibe!)

I tried to throw in a number of hcs~ideas that are more personal / that I haven't had the opportunity to show through fanwork yet. To be fair, sooo many of the headcanons I have for the chain though are an amalgamation of things picked up from the fandom (I could go on with Legend and bunny mannerisms or Four with portal sickness xD ). There's a lot of really great work put together by so many people. It's wonderful to get to be a part of it!

Thank you for the ask Perry!!! >:D

[jd-loves-fiction]

Did I say 2 reqs, I meant 3. This is gonna be a more specific one

You already know. Boothill, Gallagher, Blade, Aventurine and Ratio meeting reader of another universe and this reader almost the complete opposite of the one from their world with a different story and different circumstances.

(For more context HSR universe reader is more child-like, reckless, clearly teen aged, seeking parental validation a lot, Impulsive and just over all immature as expected from a kid.

Meanwhile this other universe reader is the same age but they are a lot more responsible, mature, basically parents the people around them, grumpy but caring (basically if you mixed Blade and Ratio personality-wise))

🌑it never eeeenndsss!! 😭(havin the time of my life) ALSO CAN YOU TELL I HAVE FAVORITES :D (maybe i should write a character study thing with Ratio too.... i like him a lot more than i realized)

✦ 𝐁𝐨𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐥 ✦

Eerie as hell, very freaked out

Like, who is this child and why do they look like you??

Obviously likes your normal self better, OBVIOUSLY

This is just weird :( you should be acting like a kid, because that's what you are, not... whatever this is

Unsettled through every enteraction with this other version of yourself, always a little distant - just can't get used to the change

Once its all over, he let's you get away with a lot more than usual (which was already a lot) and scolds you a lot less

✦ 𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐝𝐞 ✦

Feels a strange sort of longing - this is what you could've been like

He sees it as the version of you, you should've turned into if you'd have a relatively pain-free life

If makes him ache in a way he hasn't been able to process yet

Lingers a lot on the possibilities - would you have never met him like this? Would that have been better for you?

Slips into self-deprication alarmingly quickly

Once it's over, he turns very introspective for a few days after

Before returning to his quiet, grumpy self, only change being he tries to make your life a little easier in all the subtle ways he can

✦ 𝐀𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐞 ✦

Definitely see the Dr. Ratio things and it freaks him out a little

He has to deal with one doctor, and now there's two?? (affectionate)

Isn't entirely pleased with the change - you're a lot less like him this was and he doesn't like it

Aven likes being able to relate to you and connect to you though your similarities (even if most of the things you have in common are undoubtedly negative)

Your similarities also help him lead you away from the worst stuff he's experienced walking the same path as you - like this though? He can't lead you, he doesn't know how and therefore feels as if he can't protect you

Spoils you like hell once the situation is solved, buying you anything you want and encouraging your childishness and recklessness - definitely not healthy, but he likes you better when you're similar

Totally has nothing to do with him seeing his younger self in you and wanting to vicariously heal himself through healing you oh my god this man needs so much therapy

✦ 𝐆𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐠𝐡𝐞𝐫 ✦

Appreciates the help? but is conflicted about the whole thing

Sure, you're being a lot more helpful than usual (or this version of you is, rather) and more well behaved on top of that, and he appreciates that BUT it's weird

It's just weird - you're a kid. You're supposed to act like him, you don't need to be good and helpful for him to enjoy having you around

Subtly urges this other version of yourself to relax a little and let loose, more so just to see if they would - they don't. He's quite surprised by it

He though they would when given the chance, that this serious version of yourself was just acting this way becasue they had to and would revert to your normal way of acting when given the chance

The thought that the you he knows isn't necessarily the you, you were meant to be is troubling

The following days, he has a troubled look in his eye but brushes you off when you try to pry

✦ 𝐃𝐫. 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨 ✦

It's like looking into a mirror...... he's not a fan

Not in a self-centered 'I'm the only one who can act like that' kind of way, more so in 'why the hell is a kid acting like this' kind of way

Despite what some people would have you believe, Dr. Ratio is actually incrediby caring - he's just on the spectrum (that part is headcanon but tale as old as time)

His life's mission is to spread his knowledge to everyone isntead of monopolising it like the Genius Society is doing

So in a way, it's good to see you follow some of his lessons and act like he sometimes suggests you do

But it feels so damn wrong it just doesn't sit right with him

He wants you to grow to appreciate his lessons when the time is right and you're grown enough to understand them yourself

This just feels like you skipped that teenage rebellion stage that he feels is important to go through

Plus, the slight chip on his shoulder he still carries from being rejected by the Genius Society tells him, the world doesn't need more Ratio's (🥺)

Strangely encourages your misbehavior in the days to come, turns a blind eye to your troublemaking and lightens up on the lessons

The whole ordeal has him appreciating the teenage part of development more than before

AHEM - Valentine event here ;)